


Of Royals and Rebels

by Klei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, M/M, Modern Royalty, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Politics, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 128,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the past several years, the centuries-old monarchy has struggled to quell a rebellion brewing on the outskirts of the country.  In the modern era, civil war seemed unlikely, but the rising flames of discontent were only fanned by newfound ease of communication.  Within the rebellion, a figurehead emerged whose strength and general public speaking skills painted a target on his forehead.  Prince Ivan finds himself enamored, and - under the guise of making an example of a prominent rebel - decides to take him for his own, even as Alfred makes no secret of his desire to slit his throat at the earliest available opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Figurehead

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written independently, and what I've written alone has mostly been crap, so here's something simple and fun to rediscover my motivation. Hopefully you guys will enjoy the ride, too, though I encourage you to look through the tags to make sure everything is to your liking.
> 
> Lemme get the usual disclaimers out of the way. And I don't mean the "I don't own this" stuff, either. (Come on, you KNOW I don't own this.) What I'm referring to is the fact that, just because something is mentioned from a certain character's point of view, it doesn't necessarily mean I share the opinion. Let's say that Ivan and Alfred have an argument about politics. If it's being written from Alfred's point of view, he's going to be very dismissive of Ivan's opinion, regardless of whether or not he has a point. The same goes when it's Ivan's point of view. I, the author, am not taking sides. You can take whatever side you want as the reader. What happens is only happening as a story, not because I think that something is right or wrong. On a similar note, I don't have a personal vendetta against any of the characters in the story, even if they're portrayed in a less-than-flattering light. Believe it or not, I actually like all of them. Yes, Ivan, too. Yes, I know he's not a complete monster in canon. 'tis a fanfic.
> 
> Also, if you feel like you don't really know how the fictional nation in this story works initially, don't worry, it's not really that important this early on, and there's gonna be more explanation in chapter two. Promise. On that note, all the names for places are totally made up. No relationship to the real world at all. Any similarity the names share with real places is purely coincidental.

He walked briskly down the long, lavishly-decorated hallway, his dark violet cape fluttering behind him. A pair of guards in bulletproof vests accompanied him on either side, one armed with a variety of different handguns and knives, and the other with a sniper rifle and grenades.

With a slight frown, he reached down to his pocket to pull out his phone and glanced at the screen. 3:04, it read. Father would not be pleased. A handful of servants chattering up ahead went silent immediately upon seeing the grim expression on his face, and quickly shuffled out of his way. They knew better than to risk his ire by delaying him further.

He did not acknowledge their presence as he passed. Even if he were in a better mood, to do so would be nothing short of improper.

At last, he rounded the corner. Another pair of guards stood at his bedroom door, which he stopped to stand in front of expectantly until one of them finally took the hint and reached over to open it. He passed through them as though they were little more than statues, and the door clicked shut once again. With a wave of his hand, the two that had come with him took up positions by the door along the inside.

It was a rather glorious bedroom, for certain. Along the back wall was a massive, beautifully carved mahogany bed, on either side of which were doors leading out to the balcony. Gorgeously upholstered seats circled an ornate coffee table, and a massive, flat-panel television hung from one wall beside some landscape paintings. None of those things, however, were what he was there for. Instead, he turned towards his desk, upon which sat one of the most powerful desktop computers on the market. He quickly took a seat and flipped open his webcam. With a few clicks and an input password, several face cameras popped up.

In the center was a man with a short beard, moustache, and a jewel-encrusted gold crown. Predictably enough, it was he who was first to speak.

“So, Prince Ivan has finally deigned to join us,” he said, clearly unamused.

“My apologies, my liege,” said Ivan. “Today's petitioners were displeased by the court closing early.”

In a facecam on one side of the king's, Yekaterina pursed her lips sympathetically. On the other side, Natalya maintained a steely gaze, her emotions well-hidden. On the second and third rows of cameras were the faces of the king's council, who dared not show their opinions on the prince's response one way or another.

“Irrelevant,” said the king. “This meeting takes priority. If the peasantry refused to leave, you should have had them arrested for trespassing.”

“Yes, my liege.”

“Now,” said the king. “I expect you all know why you're here.”

All those present for the virtual conference nodded.

“With each passing day,” said the king, “the rebel army grows in size and confidence. Up until recently, it hasn't been worthy of note. However, with the loss of Ephenette, belief in their capacity to overthrow us has grown, and the movement has gained steam. Spymaster Yao, if you would present your report?”

“Of course, your majesty,” said a slender, long-haired male with some of the most androgynous features Ivan had ever seen. To remark upon that, however, would be unprofessional. Despite his youthful appearance, he had to be older than he looked, for Ivan could remember him being on the council even when he, himself, had been a child too young for a landed title. “I've uploaded the full report to the server. In summation, my network estimates that the rebel army is about eight thousand or so strong, and growing daily. Although they continue to be plagued by financial troubles, they're surviving well enough off of donations and volunteer work on the part of the lower class. We've managed to slip in some undercover operatives, but it's been difficult. Desperate as they are for support, they're surprisingly thorough with background checks. Even so, we've gotten word that their next target is Volaus.”

“So they're after Princess Natalya, then,” murmured a man with slicked-back blonde hair and a strong jawline. “Sire, I recommend that we relocate the princess to the capital and ready our troops to defend Volaus at once!”

“Calm yourself, Marshal Ludwig,” said Natalya coolly. “I am not so easily frightened that I would flee from a horde of unskilled ruffians.”

“Natalya, be reasonable,” said Yekaterina, appearing concerned. As always, she wore her emotions on her sleeve. “You shouldn't risk your life for honor.”

“Honor has little to do with it,” said the king. “Were word to get out that Natalya is returning to the capital, it would look as though we feared the rebellion. We cannot afford such displays of weakness. Rather, we must raise an army capable of properly defending the border.”

“Such a decision would be financially unwise,” said a well-dressed man with a mole on his chin. “We can't afford to divide our attention between the southern border and the rebel army. Well, not without raising taxes, at least.”

“Steward Roderich brings up a good point,” interjected Yekaterina, clearly scrambling for a reason to move her youngest sister to safety. “We couldn't possibly raise taxes any higher than they are now without further upsetting the populace. It would only add fuel to the rebellion!”

“Hmm,” responded the king thoughtfully. “What say you, Chancellor?”

Behind his smile, Ivan gritted his teeth. The chancellor was such a strange fellow. The grandson of an esteemed (and deceased) general, he was outwardly lazy and fearful. Still, beneath that happy-go-lucky exterior that so excelled at getting others to underestimate his intelligence, there was a strangely brilliant strategic mindset. It was a little unsettling.

“Ve,” said Chancellor Feliciano, who had been visibly shivering the entire conversation. “M-maybe we could blame the rebellion for the tax increase? I mean, if I had to pay someone more because of some third party, I'd probably get upset with them.”

“Yes, of course,” said the king, a smile spreading across his face. “If we ensure that the commoners understand the rebels are the reason for the tax increase, it will breed resentment. After all, even if we were to cut them down, another rebellion would just spring up in its place. The only way to ensure continued peace is to eliminate popular support.”

“It's going to take more than that to end the rebellion for good,” said Ludwig. “With their current power, they're just as capable of spreading propaganda as we are. We need to demoralize them. Make them believe they can't win.”

“I believe I can be of some assistance with that,” said Yao. “I didn't make it explicitly clear earlier, but my network has identified some key individuals within the rebels' ranks.”

“Go on,” said the king.

“Their true leaders are quite valuable, of course,” said Yao, and an image was uploaded on the screen. It was a slightly blurry photograph of a stubbly-chinned man with blonde hair hovering over a table alongside a stern-looking man with large eyebrows. “Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland have been an asset to their side. However, though their capture would be a temporary setback, there are others capable of stepping up to take their place. The real prize, as usual, is someone of a little less strategic importance, but whose face is known well throughout their ranks for their strength and self-confidence. A bit of a figurehead, if you would.”

Another photo popped up on the screen of a young man brandishing a revolver in each hand. Ivan's eyes widened slightly with renewed interest. He was clearly a fair bit younger than the rebel leaders, but he carried himself as though he possessed the power of a king. His smile was cocky, but not cruel.

“He's not in charge of the rebellion – from what I understand, he's rather hot-headed and disinclined to strategize – but he's become the face of it all the same. Rather good at motivational speeches, or so I hear,” said Yao. “His name is Alfred Jones, and I believe his capture would deal a significant blow to their morale.”

In that moment, as the picture disappeared from the screen, a single, overpowering thought crossed Ivan's mind.

_I want him._

Such a strange feeling. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him, but it had never been one he could quite manage to fulfill. Those unlucky enough to find themselves yearned for by him were usually still fortunate enough to be in positions influential enough that, prince or not, he couldn't justify uprooting them from. Unsurprising, given that the vast majority of his interactions were with nobles. But that man in the picture? He was a criminal, guilty of treason. His actions were worthy of death. No one but the other criminals would take his side if someone were to make a toy of him.

“I volunteer my resources to be put towards his capture,” said Ivan, a little too eagerly.

The others appeared somewhat surprised.

“Oh?” said the king, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “This is rather sudden. His capture will certainly prove difficult and expensive. What brings this on? You're not hoping to be rewarded with another title, are you?”

“On the contrary, I'm quite comfortable with my assets,” said Ivan. “There is, however, something I would like to ask for in exchange for taking on this burden.”

All attention was on him. The king appeared wary. In all likelihood, he believed that Ivan sought to be made heir to the throne. He was, after all, second in line, and the firstborn son. Wasn't that how such things always went? Luckily for Yekaterina, Ivan was no pretender, and he cared little for such responsibilities.

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“I want full custody- or, rather, ownership of him. Alfred, I mean,” said Ivan.

“Custody? What ever for?” demanded Natalya. “He is to be put to death!”

Ivan leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know how it is. His death would only make him a martyr,” reasoned Ivan. “If we kill him, they'll want vengeance. But if we _break_ him, he becomes a symbol of what happens to those who defy the capital.”

“An interesting proposal,” said the king, seeming quite a bit more relaxed with the revelation that Ivan's request was so much smaller than initially anticipated.

“My liege,” said Natalya, quite forcefully. “This rebel is too dangerous, and he _must_ be dealt with decisively!”

The king opted to ignore her, in favor of addressing Ivan once again.

“And what do you hope to gain from this, Prince Ivan?”

“The prestige that comes with being the one to shatter the rebels' morale. That, and an interesting trophy to show off at dinner parties,” he answered easily. “Though I suppose a small monetary reward may also be in order.”

“You can't be seriously considering-”

“Hold your tongue, Princess Natalya,” said the king, stroking his beard. “The prince may not be the most punctual, but Ivan has worked with Yao to shatter the will of many a criminal in the past, even those said to be unbreakable. This is a task I would gladly entrust to him. What say you, Spymaster?”

Yao grimaced, but nodded. “Prince Ivan has been quite instrumental in my work in the past. I agree that he's best-suited for the task.”

“And what if the rebel were to get loose and kill him?” demanded Natalya. Yekaterina said nothing, but the look on her face made it clear that she was in agreement.

“Then his land shall be given to you, Princess Natalya, for safekeeping,” said the king curtly. “Were it Princess Yekaterina, I might be more inclined to agree. However, Prince Ivan is not heir to the throne, nor is he the only one capable of taking her place in the unlikely event of her incapacitation. It is a risk I will permit him to take, should he be so inclined. I trust it won't come to that, however.”

“I will be careful in dealing with him,” agreed Ivan, though his words seemed to do little to assuage the looks of unease on the faces of his sisters.

“I should hope so. While your life is not quite so critical as Yekaterina's, your death would reflect poorly on the crown,” said the king firmly. “Do not take this lightly.”

Well, that was a rather callous way of saying, 'Be careful, son, I love you and don't want to attend your funeral,' wasn't it? But then, it was only to be expected with all of his advisers present.

“Of course, my liege,” said Ivan. _I love you, too._

“This-” began Natalya.

“Enough. The matter has been decided,” said the king. “Now, then. Let us discuss the plan.”

 

* * *

 

Miles away, in the rebel-controlled county of Ephenette, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed male in glasses punched at a bag while someone of similar appearance watched with an annoyed expression.

“Is getting all sweaty really the best idea right before a speech?” asked Matthew, arms folded over his chest. He leaned against a wall nearby and idly adjusted his glasses.

“I've gotta get myself pumped up, ya' know?” said Alfred, a grin spread across his face. He landed a solid blow against the bag, further reddening his scarred-up knuckles. The aforementioned sweat dripped from his forehead, and he wiped it off with his bare arm before hitting it again. “It gets a little nerve-wracking, being up in front of all those people.”

“You? Nervous?” said Matthew, snorting. “You don't know the meaning of the word.”

“Sure don't!” agreed Alfred. _Thud! Whack!_ “But public speaking requires a certain mindset, or else you'd be able to deliver your own speeches, instead of just writing mine.”

“It's a team effort,” huffed Matthew. “Maybe you could make that known at some point. It would be nice if people gave me some credit as an individual, instead of just mistaking me for you all the time, like I don't even exist.”

“Well, just think,” said Alfred, finally turning away from the punching bag to grab a towel and wipe himself dry. “Now the enemy doesn't know your face!”

“We're identical twins, genius,” said Matthew flatly. “We have the same exact face.”

“Not true! I'm the handsome one,” teased Alfred. He grabbed a stick of deodorant from the table and re-applied it before putting on his shirt. A quick glance up at the clock had him doing a double-take. “Holy shit, is it three thirty already? I only have a half an hour to get cleaned up before the speech! Why didn't you say anything, Mattie?”

Matthew facepalmed.

“Oh my God, I don't even have time to shower!” said Alfred, darting out of the room in a panic. Matthew followed after him as they exited the room and emerged into a castle hallway. “I need a blow-dryer for my hair! Where's my suit? I forgot to ask how ties work! This is awful! Wait, where's my room? Damn it, why's this place gotta be so huge?”

“Well, it _is_ a castle,” said Matthew, motioning for Alfred to follow him. “And not even a big one. Wait 'till we get to the capital.”

“Who even needs this much space?” groaned Alfred as they jogged past what seemed like innumerable doors.

“The former Count of Ephenette. Obviously.”

“Maybe he should have spent a little less time squeezing money out of his people for his giant man-cave and given something back to the community.”

“Yeah, well, that's why he's the _former_ Count,” said Matthew, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Mm,” agreed Alfred, and for a moment, there was silence between them. “I can't wait to live in a normal house again, myself.”

Matthew hesitated. “That might be a long time from now, if we even-”

“We're going to survive, Mattie. You hear me?” interrupted Alfred suddenly, coming to a complete stop behind Matthew. “Don't you talk like we won't!”

“Right,” said Matthew, not turning around to look at him. He sounded unconvinced. “Come on, you have a speech to get ready for, Al.”

“We're not going to die,” said Alfred again, stepping forward to grab Matthew's shoulder. He stood in front of him and looked him in the eyes. “I'm not going to let anyone lay a hand on you, _ever.”_

Matthew smiled, though it was small and forced. “And that conviction is why you're the one giving the motivational speeches, not me. Now hurry up, unless you want to give it looking like you just fell into a puddle.”

It took several seconds for Alfred to finally release his brother's shoulder from his grip. He stepped back and turned around to continue down the hall, though it was clear from his tense shoulders and clenched fists that the words had bothered him. Matthew exhaled silently and hurried to the front before Alfred ended up getting himself lost.

They weren't in denial about what could happen to them as rebels. Not _really._ Alfred had accepted that he could very well die at any point, especially after his face had become well known throughout the nation. At any point, an assassin could shoot him down, or plant a bomb on his person. He knew it, and yet, he couldn't bear to talk about it, as though talking about it made that prospect more likely. He would die if he had to, but that didn't mean he _wanted_ to, and he _especially_ didn't want to think about such a fate befalling his brother, or his close friends. If that happened...

Well, he didn't like thinking about it, so he didn't know.

They approached the door to Alfred's bedroom warily, peeking around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to get them in undetected. Alfred winced as, before he could start towards it, a hand firmly gripped his ear from behind. Matthew, too, let out a squeak as his own ear was grabbed with the other hand.

“Do you two know what time it is?” said the voice icily. “Do you know how long I've been _looking_ for you?”

Matthew was smart enough to keep quiet, but Alfred couldn't keep his trap shut.

“Not a clue, but could you let me go, Artie? I've gotta get ready for my speech,” said Alfred, as innocently as an angel.

Arthur finally let go of Matthew's ear, in favor of using that hand to seize Alfred's arm and practically drag him the rest of the way to his room. Alfred whined a little, but didn't put up too much of a struggle.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what the rest of our army might think if they knew that their beloved Alfred was a lazy, good-for-nothing _idiot_ incapable of successfully completing _even the most basic of tasks!”_ roared Arthur. “Be here an hour early, I said! Don't get dirty, I said! Was that really so difficult that you couldn't even manage to do _one_ of those things? Because here you are, both late _and_ sweaty! I've half a mind to bend you over my knee and give you the spanking of a lifetime!”

“I'm a grown man!” protested Alfred, even as Matthew fervently gestured for him to shut up.

“You're an immature child in a man's body!” said Arthur. “A child who's about to get the cane if he doesn't shut the hell up and wash himself! You have _two minutes_ while I call Francis up and tell him that I've found you!”

“But Arthuuuuuuuur!”

“Don't 'Arthur' me!” said Arthur, practically ripping the bathroom door open and shoving Alfred inside, finally releasing his arm and ear. “You have to wash up, dry your hair, get dressed, and get into position, and _I'm_ going to have to stall the broadcast until you do!”

Alfred rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, Arthur saw that, and whacked the back of his head as he turned around.

 _“Two. Minutes,”_ repeated Arthur with a scowl that looked borderline demonic. He slammed the door shut, leaving Alfred alone in that needlessly luxurious bathroom to strip and wash himself.

“Love you, too, Artie,” said Alfred flatly.

He showered with all due haste, reluctant as he was to get swatted by Arthur and his trusty cane. It wasn't as though he feared the pain, of course, having been through quite a bit of it in combat. It was the humiliation that he couldn't stand. Alfred would be the first one to admit that he was a bit too proud and egotistical for his own good (and Matthew would, of course, point out that it was a lot more than 'a bit'), making such methods of discipline ache more than any bullet wound.

Alfred had hardly had a chance to dry himself when someone burst through the restroom door, a suit in hand.

“You!” said Francis accusingly, though he cradled the fabric with utmost care as he spoke. “I didn't even have time to iron this because of you! Where have you been?”

“I lost track of time, okay? Geez,” said Alfred, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. He just couldn't catch a break, could he?

Francis set the suit down on the counter beside the sink – there was so much _space_ in castle restrooms – and pulled a comb out of his pocket. Alfred winced as, before he could react, Francis grabbed the blow dryer hooked up to the wall and began frantically tending to his damp, messy hair.

“Start getting dressed! We have to multitask if we're going to get you ready in time,” said Francis.

“Then let go of my hair!”

“There's no _time!_ Put your trousers on, and we'll take care of the shirt later!”

Alfred rolled his eyes and grunted indignantly, but managed to get his underwear on without removing the towel, followed by his suit pants. It was about two minutes more before Francis had finished with his hair and he could get his shirt on. Despite his protests, Francis insisted upon helping him with his tie, making the admittedly convincing argument that Alfred took about thirty minutes to get it right on his own.

After that, it was a mad dash from Alfred's room to the balcony overhanging the courtyard. Through the window, Arthur could be seen, valiantly extending his own speech in order to buy more time.

“-is why we will never give up! We fight for our brothers and sisters who've fallen in battle! For the innocents starved of food and medical care while the royals feast! For the children begging on the street for handouts!”

Alfred bit his lip. It wasn't a terrible speech, really, but although Arthur was a brilliant strategist and a writer, he was only moderately charismatic. That was to say, he wasn't bad at speaking, or even below average, but he wasn't particularly great, either. A revolution needed someone capable of speaking to crowds to really push it along.

Now, Alfred was a man of many talents (an idea Matthew would balk at), but if there was one thing that everyone agreed he could do pretty well, it was speaking confidently. Perhaps a little _too_ confidently. Whatever Matthew's opinion, however, the revolutionaries seemed to eat it right up. That combined with the fact that he was the sort to put his money where his mouth was had the masses eating out of his hands, despite not knowing a thing about him.

And yeah, he would be lying if he said that didn't feel kind of amazing. But he definitely didn't do it just for the attention!

Alfred burst through the door just as Arthur seemed to be running out of things to say, and flashed his usual bright smile as the camera someone had hooked up turned towards him. Hundreds of people stood in what had once been the courtyard, though signs of combat still lingered. Many of the hedges had been burned, and statues toppled. At the very least, the clean-up crew had done an excellent job of removing the bodies for proper funerals and cleaning up the blood. There were children in attendance, and they didn't need to see those awful things.

“Good morning, everybody!” he said easily. Arthur sighed. The crowd gathered below the balcony erupted into cheers. Alfred's cheeks took on the slightest shade of red. “Aww, come on, don't make me blush. You guys? Down there? You're the ones that deserve the round of applause. Come on, everyone, give it up for yourselves! You're the ones making this all possible!” He clapped his own hands, and so did the crowd, for several moments more. Time for the meat of the speech. In other words, what Matthew had written. “Even the smallest of contributions has helped us get to where we are today! After months of planning, and weeks of battle, the barony of Ephenette has been wrested from the king's control! Many of you standing out there right now have made grave sacrifices. Friends and family have bravely fought and died to free these lands from tyranny. But, as the royal family has no doubt been made aware, they have _not_ died in vain!”

He raised his fist into the air, practically shouting those final words. Geez, his five-minute spiel was going to be about twice as long if he had to keep pausing to let people cheer and clap between every few lines. But then, that just meant he was doing his job right.

 

* * *

 

“Cute,” said Ivan, slightly raising the volume on the television. It was rather bold of them to do a live broadcast that anyone could pick up on with the proper equipment. He smiled as Alfred's voice blared through his room. Initially, he'd been a little worried that perhaps he'd jumped the gun and acted too impulsively upon seeing the picture. However, seeing Alfred speak live had reassured him that he was a fetching prize, indeed.

Ivan gently clutched his chest and closed his eyes. That voice alone was enough to make his heart beat faster, even if it was spewing nonsense stemming from a blatant ignorance of politics. He was so steadfast in his convictions that it was almost enough to convert Ivan, himself.

Well, not really, but he really _was_ good.

He idly scrolled down the document printed on his tablet. He'd already gone over most of it, but he was particularly fond of his newfound target's file.

“Name,” chimed the tablet in a feminine voice, “Alfred Jones. Hair, blonde. Eyes, light blue. Skin, medium pale. Both parents deceased. Siblings...”

Ivan frowned.

“...None,” said the document.

“No siblings?” said Ivan in an almost pitying way. “What a shame. I might have gone for a twofer.”

“Status, criminal. Crime, treason,” said the tablet, as though it weren't obvious already.

“Skip to profile,” said Ivan.

“Skipping to profile,” said the tablet. “Alfred Jones' father committed suicide when he was only two, and his mother took her own life shortly after. The note he left implies that his desire to die stemmed from poverty. Following these events, Jones was sent to the Sunnyglade Orphanage, where he repeatedly demonstrated a reluctance to submit to authority. This reached a head when the rebellion began two years ago. At the age of seventeen, all of the orphanage's documentation on him was destroyed, along with all digital traces of their existence, an event still being looked into by investigators to this day. Though the records are lost, information about many of these individuals and their lives has been recouped from word-of-mouth. All those at the orphanage insist that Alfred was the only one they remembered disappearing, and though some remaining physical records seemed to imply a second, this has been chalked up to a typographical error.

“Months after joining the rebels, Jones became popular with other members after a video was released of him jumping repeatedly into the line of fire to drag his injured squadmates to safety. This and many other instances of heroism combined with his close relationship with the rebel leaders quickly put him in the spotlight, and he became something of a figurehead for the cause. During the battle of Echo Valley, witness accounts claim that he single-handedly took out a platoon of thirty of the crown's top soldiers.”

Ivan stroked the picture of Alfred's face on the screen, even as it caused it to scroll upwards.

“So cute,” he said again, smiling. Oh, that sweet confidence. That look of determination.

He wanted to shatter it, then build it back up and make it his.

Ivan snapped his fingers. A guard hurried to his side.

“Yes, Prince Ivan?”

“Have one of the servant's fetch a copy of the blueprints to the late baron's castle,” said Ivan without once turning his eyes from the attractive speaker on the television. “Then see to it that labs Eight and Thirteen are ready and operational.”

“The chemical weapon and physiological modification centers?” said the guard, seemingly in disbelief.

“The same,” said Ivan. He wasn't afraid to fight a little dirty, if he had to. “All's fair in love and war.”

And this was both.

 

* * *

 

_Wham!_

A crack formed in the board where his fist had just struck. The noise echoed throughout the bustling training room, where men and women alike worked to improve their skills for the battles ahead.

“Another broken?” said one of the other soldiers by the punching boards. He was a fairly slender man whose short dark hair was modestly styled into blunt bangs. “Other people need to use those, you know.”

Alfred laughed uncomfortably. “Sorry about that, Kiku! I guess I just got too into it.”

“Honestly,” said Matthew from the weight-lifting station. His muscular arms strained beneath the heavily-weighted barbell above him, and he spoke between bench presses. “You, have, _no,_ self, control!”

“Not in the least!” agreed Alfred all too readily.

Matthew visibly gritted his teeth and, under the watchful supervision of his spotter, set it back on the stand. His arms dropped to his sides, and he drew in a couple ragged breaths.

“Weeeeeak,” teased Alfred. “Come on, Mattie, you can do better than that. How are you even gonna hold a gun up with those noodle arms?”

“The same way you get laid with your noodle dick,” Matthew shot back venomously.

“Aren't you identical twins?” asked Matthew's spotter. He was a pasty-faced man with skin and hair so light that it could blind people. “Technically, you've got the exact same-”

“Shut up, Gilbert.”

“Gil to the rescue, as usual!” said Alfred, as chipper as ever. “Score!”

“Hey, I don't come to anyone's rescue in a battle of burns,” said Gilbert with a shrug. “Someone of my caliber is above taking sides. I just point out the obvious.”

“You always take sides,” Kiku pointed out. “You took Francis' side in an argument with Arthur just yesterday for the sole purpose of fanning the flames.”

“And since when do _you_ take sides?” demanded Gilbert, hands on his hips. “I thought you were Mr. Above It All?”

“I just point out the obvious,” said Kiku, totally deadpan. Alfred burst into laughter, and Matthew erupted into a fit of giggles. Gilbert raised his fists.

“Oh, you wanna go, smart guy?”

Kiku seemed confused. “Go where?”

“Fight me!” roared Gilbert, jumping forward as if to tackle Kiku to the ground.

Kiku side-stepped the movement, sending Gilbert face-first into the stone floor.

“Son of a _bitch!”_ said Gilbert. He sat up, nursing a bloody and obviously broken nose. “You broke my nose!”

“You broke your own nose,” said Kiku honestly enough. Alfred's laugh grew even harder, while Matthew looked concerned.

“Gilbert, you can't just go getting yourself injured outside of combat!” scolded Matthew as he hurried to Gilbert's side with one of the many tissues he'd been keeping in his pocket for just such an occasion.

“Lighten up, Mattie,” said Alfred. “It's just his nose. And possibly his brain, but that was already broken.”

“You wanna go, next?” hissed Gilbert.

“Only if you promise to break another body part.”

“Guys!” said Matthew firmly. “Quit arguing. I'm going to take Gilbert to get fixed up. Try not to kill each other before we even leave for Volaus.”

“Fixed up? But I'm in the middle of training!” complained Gilbert. Matthew rolled his eyes and reached forward to pull his hand from his face. Blood immediately began dripping down his lips, chin, and neck. “Okay, maybe I could use some bandages.”

Matthew escorted him away – well, 'dragged' was actually a little more accurate – leaving Alfred with Kiku.

“That was pretty sick,” said Alfred, grinning.

“I don't think it was that terrible. He attacked me, first,” said Kiku, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“No, no. Good sick. Man, you've gotta learn some lingo!” said Alfred. He strolled over to give Kiku a friendly slap on the back, which only succeeded in causing his eyes to widen like a deer in the headlights as he was jerked forward. Geez. He was always a bit on edge, as a rule, but somehow he seemed even more ready for something to go wrong than usual. “You're super smart, but you always sound like you have no idea what's going on when people talk! Guess it was kinda cool when you said those things to Gil, though.”

“Oh,” said Kiku. Alfred sighed. Getting him to have a lengthy conversation was like trying to get water out of a rock. Still, his general reluctance to speak made him great at keeping secrets, a trait that Alfred wholeheartedly abused the hell out of when he had something he needed to get off his chest. Kiku, for his part, was a pretty understanding guy. He never seemed to mind.

“So, anyway-” Alfred was about to continue, when something shocking happened.

 _BOOM! CRACK!_ The whole castle shook, and everyone standing struggled to stay that way.

“We're under attack!” said a panicked voice.

“We're not ready!” said another.

Adrenaline surged through Alfred's veins, and from the expression on Kiku's face, he could see that it was the same for the both of them. Under attack? But how? It sounded like they were being bombed from above, but that couldn't be right. Even if one of their own was flying and identified themselves, the scanners should have shot down any airplane carrying a bomb within a mile of the castle.

 _BOOM! CRACK! BOOM! CRACK!_ The room was chaos as people began to panic. The training room was for trainees, as well as soldiers, and many of them had joined only recently.

“Everyone, calm down!” ordered Alfred. His bouncy voice had grown much more serious. “Pull yourselves together! Trainees, evacuate all non-combat personnel to the shelters and remain there on guard duty! Kiku, which squads are assigned to this training room right now?”

“Eight, eleven, and twenty-four,” answered Kiku, already grabbing his gear. The trainees hurriedly took what little defensive equipment they were permitted to keep on hand and rushed off to do as they'd been told. Each squad had a specialty. It was best to play to their strengths.

Alfred nodded. “Okay! Squad eight, report to Francis and Arthur! Back them up! Squad eleven, rescue operations! Squad twenty-four, get to your aircraft immediately and begin emergency counter-attack operations! Move it!”

They all rushed around like a swarm of buzzing bees. Alfred swung his backpack over one sweaty shoulder and, with Kiku, rushed out the door with Squad Eight to get to Francis and Arthur.

It was an action he immediately regretted. The moment the doors opened, they were assaulted by a thick cloud of what Alfred could only presume was some kind of pepper spray, though it felt worse than any that he'd ever practiced dealing with in the past. Painfully blinded, it took every ounce of willpower to resist the instinct to try and rub it out of his eyes. He could hear the other soldiers screaming out in pain and collapsing to the floor. Every inch of Alfred's skin felt as though it were on fire as he fumbled through his bag for his gas mask. His throat was completely ruined; there would be no issuing orders in his sorry state.

“Kah-” he choked out, trying in vain to call out for Kiku.

“I'm fine,” said Kiku's voice, though it sounded filtered. “I put my gas mask on before we left the room.”

Prepared as usual. Alfred was all too grateful for the assistance when Kiku helped him strap his mask to his face. There was no immediate relief, of course, but it made it a little easier to breathe. Still, being both blind and muted, he was in no shape to give out orders to a bunch of other men in sorrier states.

“Ma-me,” he choked, “G-go Arfur, F-fah-sis. Ya-oo t-ak cah-command.”

Kiku appeared conflicted about something.

“Wait, Alfred,” he began.

“Th-hat an order!” said Alfred, a little more firmly. Kiku hesitated, at first, then finally nodded.

“Understood,” said Kiku. “I'll help everyone get their masks on, and then we'll follow you. Are you certain you can get there as you are?”

Despite the excruciating agony, Alfred gave him a thumbs-up, then touched a wall for support. Arthur and Francis were only at the end of the hall. He just had to keep going straight until he hit the last door.

_BANG! CRACK!_

Alfred turned and ran down the hall, choking out barely-audible apologies to every poor sap he ended up bumping into or nearly trampling along the way. Francis and Arthur would know exactly what needed to be done, and where he would be able to do the most good.

It hurt. Even with the filter on, it was still hard to breathe as a result of what he'd already inhaled. He blinked vigorously as he'd been trained to do, and tears streamed out of them in a vain attempt to flush out the source of his painful blindness. Every five seconds, he erupted into a coughing fit, but it didn't stop him. He had to get his orders. He had to protect his family.

The walk was only a few short minutes, but it felt like an eternity. At long last, however, he met a wall. Alfred quickly felt around for the doorknob.

“It's me, Al-ferd!” he managed to hack up before even attempting to open the door. He wasn't particularly intelligent, but he wasn't a complete and utter moron, either. “Don't shoot!”

The door opened before he could even push it, and he felt himself being yanked inside.

“Alfred! Thank goodness you're safe,” said Arthur, sounding both stressed and relieved. He pulled Alfred into a hug and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Reinforcements,” wheezed Alfred. “On way. How-?”

_BANG! CRACK!_

“They aren't bombs,” said Francis' voice, and Alfred could feel his hands running over his body to check for injuries. Arthur released him in order to allow him to do so unimpeded. “They're dropping dead weights on the building. They got through air security by hacking into the system and recording several of our pilots speaking the passwords. The chemical weapons are inside falcons trained to fly into the building, upon which point they blow up. You probably can't see it as you are right now, but several of the walls by the windows are covered in blood and feathers.”

“Crafty bitches,” said Arthur, clearly speaking through gritted teeth.

“Matthew?” inquired Alfred, his voice finally beginning to come back to him.

“Wasn't he in the training room with you?” asked Francis, suddenly sounding frantic. “He's with the reinforcements, is he not?”

Shit.

“Gilbert's nose broken,” said Alfred. His vision wasn't completely restored, but he was beginning to make out basic shapes again. “Matthew taking to medical.”

“Shit!” said Arthur. “We've got to pull it together and evacuate the castle. They don't have any ground forces; they're just trying to destroy the building by dropping weights on all of its weak points. The top aerial squad was in the training room!  What happened to them?”

“Sent them to planes,” said Alfred, stepping backwards towards the door. “Going to find Matthew now!”

He saw Arthur's silhouette lunge forward to grab him, but he jumped back out of the way.

“Oh, no you don't!” said Arthur. “You're going to evacuate to the shelter with the others! _I'll_ find Matthew!”

“You're both going to go to the shelter while _I_ find Matthew!” argued Francis.

“Both you two too important,” said Alfred impatiently. “Leaders! Have to lead! I'll find Matthew.”

Though he could see the hesitation in their very posture, Arthur and Francis reluctantly nodded. They loved both he and Matthew dearly, but they were no strangers to what it meant to be at war. Much as they wanted to ensure their family's safety first, they had a responsibility to the rebellion.

“Come back safe,” said Francis, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead.

“If you die,” said Arthur slowly, “I'll kill you.”

Alfred nodded.

“Love you!” he said, and took off running out the door.

Right turn. Left turn. The halls of the castle were confusing, and it wasn't helped by the fact that the whole building was constantly shaking with every weight dropped down upon the roof by the fighter jets up above. Though it seemed to have slowed down some, and the sounds of an aerial battle seemed to have begun, the assault was relentless. Already, cracks were forming in the walls, and support pillars seemed to have been knocked over.

“Matthew!” he screamed down the hall, even as the words felt like sandpaper in his throat. _“Matthew!”_

“Alfred!” called a voice back. “Alfred, help!”

Alfred hurriedly rounded the corner into the next hall. What he saw shocked him.

“Alfred!” said Matthew desperately. Beside him, Gilbert was on the floor, unconscious. His arm was being pinned down by a piece of what appeared to be the ceiling. “Help me get this off of him!”

He was at Matthew's side quicker than a flash. With trembling fingers, he seized the underside of the debris and began to pull upwards with his brother. For a moment, it seemed to work. Their combined effort lifted it up into the air. Just as Matthew was about to shove Gilbert's arm out of the way with his foot, however, another crash caused it to slip out of their hands.

Matthew screamed as the debris landed on his foot as well as Gilbert's arm.

“Shit! You okay?” asked Alfred.

“I think it's broken,” said Matthew, his face screwed up with pain. “But I can still walk on it if I have to. Do you know what the plan is?”

“Evacuate to shelter,” answered Alfred, gripping the debris once more. “Lift!”

The two of them hoisted the piece of ceiling into the air once more, and Alfred kicked Gilbert's arm out of harm's way while Matthew pulled his crushed foot to safety. Both appeared injured, but it was nothing so severe as to be unfixable, at least as far as Alfred could tell. He grunted as he released the debris, and rubbed his sore palms together.

“And Francis and Arthur?”

“The reinforcements should have arrived by now,” said Alfred. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, as did Matthew and Gilbert's. “That must be the evacuation orders.”

“Awesome,” groaned Gilbert, only partially awake. “Too awesome for ceilings...”

Matthew hoisted Gilbert up onto his shoulder. Alfred was about to assist them when another voice called out from behind them.

“Help!” cried an unfamiliar female voice. Alfred turned around. There was another woman he hadn't seen before who appeared to be trapped under a piece of wall. She wore a soldier's uniform. He didn't recognize her, but that was unsurprising; he couldn't possibly know everyone in the army. “Please help me!”

“Alfred-” began Matthew. Again, the building shook. It was only a matter of time before another weight struck the roof above them. The hallway they were in was already coming apart. Who knew how much longer it would last?

“I've got it. You get Gilbert to safety,” said Alfred. “I'm stronger than you. I can help her on my own!  It'll be quick.”

“No, I'll do it! You need to get back to the shelter more than I do!” said Matthew, even as he winced from both his weight and that of a half-conscious Gilbert. “You're more important!”

Alfred smacked him across the face.

“Don't you _ever_ say that again!” he snapped. _“You're_ the one who writes my speeches! _You're_ the one with the great strategic mind! _You're_ the one who puts up with people not recognizing you as your own person! You're the best fucking brother in the world, and don't you try to tell me otherwise! Now you take Gilbert to shelter, and make it there alive! I'll follow you in a minute. That's an _order,_ soldier!”

Matthew trembled for a moment; then, his face hardened into one of steely determination.

“We're equal in rank, asshole,” said Matthew as he turned around to limp away with Gilbert over his shoulder. “You'd better come back alive, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear!” said Alfred as he, too, turned around, and they went their separate ways.

Matthew was pretty fast for a man with a broken foot carrying another full-grown man to safety. By the time Alfred reached the soldier trapped under the rubble and turned his head to look over his shoulder, he was already out of sight.

“It's okay, dude, I'll have you out of there in a sec!” said Alfred. Her whole torso appeared to be pinned down, but there wasn't any blood. He stepped up close to her head and arms, which poked out of the pile, then reached down to grip the piece of wall trapping her.

It came up as easily as though it were made out of paper mache.

“What...?” said Alfred, confused. Come to think of it, where had the piece of wall even come from? The wall beside them looked to be intact.

His eyes widened at the sudden sensation of a needle being jammed into his leg, right above his ankle. Alfred turned his head down to see the 'trapped' woman smiling cockily up at him and brandishing an emptied syringe.

“That was even easier than I thought it was gonna be,” she laughed.

Alfred stepped back in horror as he felt his mind begin to grow fuzzy. Had he really just been tricked? A wave of dizziness struck him down, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back, with the woman standing over him. Was it all about to end? Right there? Like that? _Poisoned?_ It was just too much to take in all at once, especially with his mind going blank.

“M-mattie,” he tried to cry out, but he was too weak to do any more than whisper.

“Stupid bitch,” said the woman. In his last conscious moments, he felt her reaching down to wrap her arms around his waist, then hoist his limp body up over her shoulder. “Good thing you were nice enough to address each other before that touching little farewell. I might have gone after the wrong one.  Nothing personal, of course.  A job's a job.”

“Mattie... Arthur... Francis...”

It looked like he wouldn't be keeping those promises, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it. Either way, your feedback is very much appreciated, even if it's just a short little, "Hi" in the comments section. Don't be afraid to be critical. While I'm not gonna re-write the entire chapter (well, I mean, I'll fix typos and stuff, but you get the idea), I'll do my best to take your advice to heart going forward. I try to reply to all comments, unless I'm busy, the email alert gets buried in my ridiculously disorganized inbox, or I read the email on mobile and forget to take care of it when I get home. ^^'


	2. A First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Please note that subsequent chapters will not be released quite so quickly as this, in order to give me a little bit of padding to prevent erratic update schedules. As for why THIS one is coming out so soon, well, I kinda want to get a lot of the introductions and such out of the way to get to the meat of the story. Well, about as meaty as this kind of a story gets. Thanks for all your kind words regarding the last chapter! Every comment, be it positive or critical, really helps motivate a person to continue! I don't mean to sound like my will to write is entirely dependent on attention, of course, but, well, not gonna lie, it helps. Don't look at me like that! I'm not an anomaly! I'm just admitting what we're all thinking. Really! Seriously, though, don't be afraid to leave criticism. Criticism is how we learn and grow.
> 
> Warning: Medical terms and general realities will be botched in the name of creative license. Be prepared for that.

Everything was fuzzy. His head felt like television static as he slowly returned to self-awareness, and his neck was sore from its awkward position. Had he fallen asleep playing video games again? Because he was sitting up perfectly straight.

No. Wait. The surface he was on felt more like a chair than a sofa, and try though he might, he couldn't seem to move from the spot. His arms were bound to his sides, and his body was stuck in place. Both ankles were secured to the chair legs, and a piece of fabric covered his eyes.

Not one of those things was a good sign.

“Good morning, sleepy-head!” said a soft voice that Alfred could have sworn he'd heard before. “That poison works wonders, doesn't it? You didn't even stir a little up until the antidote was administered! Welcome to the Duchy of Wyv!”

All at once, he snapped back to reality. The events from before (how long ago was it by then?) rushed back to him, and the mystery voice was matched up with a name and a memory. A video he'd watched of the royal family.

“Ivan Braginsky,” said Alfred coolly.

“Oh, you recognize me? My, my, and here it was supposed to be a big reveal,” said Ivan. “I'm a little disappointed, but mostly flattered. Guards, if you would?”

Alfred could feel hands at the back of his head. He tried jerking it backwards to squish them against the chair, but it only succeeded in getting them to pull away.

“Quit being such a coward,” scolded Ivan. At first, Alfred assumed it was directed at him, but the guard's babbled series of excuses seemed to prove otherwise. Alfred could hear him standing and walking around behind him. “I'll do it myself, then. Do hold still, Alfred. I'm only trying to get your blindfold off. No point now that you know who you're with.”

Alfred gritted his teeth and made it a point to wiggle his head as much as possible as a set of hands seized the knot of the blindfold covering his eyes. He tried to turn his head and bite a finger off, but his neck wouldn't turn that far.

“So stubborn,” scolded Ivan. At last, the blindfold came loose and fluttered off. Ivan made it a point to keep his distance as he returned to his seat.

There was a table between them with an empty dish on either side, though only Ivan's had silverware. Uniformed guards in bulletproof vests practically surrounded them, though they were spaced out enough for people to get by. The room was quite well-decorated, with a massive curved window along one wall that looked out on a courtyard full of sunflowers. The sun itself seemed to have just cleared the horizon. Was it dawn?

“Do you like it? It's a bit smaller than the banquet hall, but I far prefer the cozy atmosphere of the breakfast room,” said Ivan, sounding pleasant enough.

Pleasantries weren't enough to make Alfred any more amenable to his presence.

“Fuck you!” said Alfred. He spat across the table, aiming for Ivan's face, but it didn't travel quite that far.

Ivan waved his hand, and a servant quickly mopped up the spit with a piece of cloth.

“You wound me,” said Ivan. “That's not a very polite way to speak with your host.”

“Host? Captor, more like,” said Alfred flatly. “As soon as I get out of these ropes, I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out, you son of a bitch!”

“Fair enough,” said Ivan, much to Alfred's surprise. “I'm both your host _and_ your captor. But no, you will not be ripping anyone's throat out, least of all mine.”

“Wanna bet?” snarled Alfred, tugging at his restraints.

“You have nothing to bet anymore,” Ivan pointed out all too cheerfully.

“I'd bet my life on it!”

“Ah, well, I'm afraid not even that belongs to you now,” mused Ivan.

Alfred gave another sharp tug on the ropes, as though wriggling as hard as he could would get him loose. He was _pissed,_ but there was another emotion making itself known in his brain. He tried to suppress it, and was sure as hell not going to show it, but he was _afraid._ It was obvious what they intended to do with him. He'd known what could happen to him as a figurehead for a long time. However, accepting that something _could_ happen and being willing to take the risk wasn't the same as not being terrified of the outcome. At least if he'd died in battle, it would have been heroic, if not quick.

“Figures,” laughed Alfred hollowly. “What a distant king. Is he not even gonna look me in the eye before he has me tortured to death?”

“You presume that the king is responsible for deciding what to do with you,” said Ivan. His tone was conversational, as though he were addressing an acquaintance in conversation, rather than an enemy. There was a strange look in his eyes as he spoke; they flickered about various parts of Alfred's body as though he were sizing him up. “You also presume that the king is a sadist. That's my job, I'm afraid. He would have had you sent to the guillotine, electric chair, gallows, or to receive a lethal injection, depending on what was most convenient at the time. Father can be a little unimaginative.”

Alfred did his best not to wince as Ivan mentioned all of the ways he might have been put to death. At least they would have been fast. It would have been easy to maintain his dignity. Maybe even be looked at as a martyr. Instead, it seemed the prince had something far more dastardly in mind.

“Sick fuck,” said Alfred. “What're you gonna do, then? Have me drawn and quartered? Ripped apart on a stretcher? I didn't realize this was the fifteenth century, you damned barbarian.”

“Aww, how precious!” said Ivan. It didn't sound like he was just mocking him, either. He seemed to genuinely find the display cute. Disgusting. “You're trying to hide your fear with anger!”

“Don't make me laugh!” said Alfred defensively. Was he really that easy to read? Damn it! “I'm not afraid of you. Have me killed in whatever sick, twisted way you want. I'll gladly give my life for the rebellion, and you'll be joining me soon enough!”

“I've read through your file, you know,” continued Ivan as though he hadn't heard a thing Alfred had just said. “I wonder, how much of your willingness to be in the limelight is out of genuine passion, and how much is just because you crave the attention that no one gave you as a child in the orphanage?”

“Shut the fuck up!” roared Alfred. He jerked _hard_ on the restraints, struggling left and right. Throwing his weight around proved to be an all-around bad idea, however, and he let loose a stream of curses as the left legs lifted off the floor and sent him tipping over to the right. The fancy rug beneath the table wasn't enough to make the fall any more pleasant, and his head struck the ground with a solid 'thud.'

Ivan made a disappointed 'tsk' with his tongue. A nearby guard hesitantly leaned forward to pick him up, but jumped back when Alfred attempted to bite into his leg. Despite the situation, Alfred couldn't help but feel a little proud. He'd heard that even the most battle-hardened of soldiers back in the capital regarded him with trepidation, but seeing it in action was quite satisfying.

“I'll just do it myself,” sighed Ivan. “Again. Cowards. He is a man like any other.” He grabbed Alfred by the collar and _yanked_ him back upright before he could bite into his fingers. “And all men can be quite easily controlled, provided you take the right precautions.”

He quickly, but calmly pulled his hand away before Alfred could regain his bearings, then strolled around behind him to push the chair back into position at the table. For all his general dickery, it was difficult to deny that he had balls. Alfred could respect that he was willing to do his own dirty work, if nothing else.

“For a time,” Alfred coldly corrected. “I'd hurry up and execute me before I got loose, if I were you. If I got out, well, I think we both know what would happen to your little army of toy soldiers, here.” He gave one of the guards a sinister grin, which only widened as they grimaced and shrank back. Alfred forced himself to relax. He could handle it. He had to keep his cool. His job was to inspire people towards revolution, and to do that, he had to die a hero's death. He wouldn't be afraid. He _couldn't_ be afraid.

_Why was he still afraid?_

“That's a very cute look on you, and I have no doubt that, were you loose, you could do away with this pathetic army in mere moments,” said Ivan as he sat down for a second time, and Alfred couldn't help but snort at the faces his guards made at that ego-bruising comment. “However, right now, you're _not_ loose, and I would greatly prefer it if we could have a civil conversation over breakfast. I expect you're quite hungry right now, seeing as you haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

 _“Breakfast?”_ repeated Alfred, as though Ivan had just performed a naked jig. “You're going to poison me to death with _breakfast foods?”_

“On the contrary,” said Ivan, seeming offended, “you'll find I'm quite civil with my prisoners, especially those of your caliber. I've even had the chef prepare what I've been assured by our network of spies is your favorite.”

Spies. So they _had_ managed to plant some in the rebellion's ranks. If he could only communicate just who they were back to Arthur and Francis.

Alfred smirked as a servant quietly came through the door with a covered dish carefully held in each hand. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was under there.

“Nice try,” scoffed Alfred, “but I've only ever pretended to love Arthur's scones.”

“I know,” said Ivan. Alfred's jaw dropped. “My informant told me.”

“That's impossible!” said Alfred in disbelief. He didn't open up to those sorts of things about just anybody. Arthur and Francis had their own problems to worry about that made him reluctant to go to them for unnecessary guidance, and Matthew was _definitely_ not a spy. Aside from them, there was only one other person he trusted with personal confessions. “The only person you could have gotten that information was-”

His heart practically stopped. No way.

“Kiku Honda?” chirped Ivan, and Alfred's heart sank. It had to be a trick. Kiku was one of his closest friends! Or at least, he _thought_ they were friends. How many personal secrets had he shared with that man? How many insecurities?

“There's no way Kiku is a spy!” hissed Alfred. “You're a liar!”

“Yes, he's very good at his job,” said Ivan. He gestured for the servant holding the covered dishes to set them down on the table. “But surely you were at least a little suspicious. Didn't he seem just a bit _too_ prepared for yesterday's attack?”

“He was just as blindsided as the rest of us!” argued Alfred. At least, until he remembered a little detail he'd paid no mind to before.

_“I'm fine,” said Kiku's voice, though it sounded filtered. “I put my gas mask on before we left the room.”_

_Prepared as usual._

Prepared as usual, indeed. When Alfred really thought about it, Kiku had  _always_ seemed prepared. It was actually a bit of a running joke among them that Kiku always had a solution to whatever problem they encountered on the battlefield.

The look of betrayal on his face must have showed, because Ivan was all too quick to comment on it.

“Cheer up, Alfred,” said Ivan. “At least now you have a breakfast you actually enjoy, instead of scones.”

As if on cue, the servant lifted the covers off of the dishes, and an incredible scent filled the room. Alfred's stomach growled as a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes topped with syrup and whipped cream met his eyes, complete with a side of bacon and toast. It looked just like the ones Matthew sometimes made for him in the morning, complete with a chocolate chip smiley face in the whipped cream.

Son of a bitch. Matthew's pancakes were  _sacred,_ and that asshole was  _tainting_ them.

“You're a real asshole,” said Alfred, hoping that speaking would conceal the fact that his lower lip had begun to tremble. Kiku was a traitor. Kiku was a traitor. Kiku was- “An  _asshole!”_

“No,” said Ivan. He picked up his own fork with a smile on his face. “It's just a pancake. I didn't expect you to be so critical of your own brother's recipe.” He cut into the pancake to take a bite. “It's actually very good! I'm so glad I got to try this with you.”

Alfred made a valiant effort to jerk out of his restraints, but only succeeded in bruising his arms and torso against them.

“Get that out of your mouth!” hissed Alfred. Notably, the servant who'd brought them food hadn't left the room. “You don't get to taste his recipe, you son of a bitch!”

“How childish of you to say,” said Ivan. “Does this mean you don't intend to eat?”

“Okay, first of all,” said Alfred, again forcing himself to calm down, “it's probably poisoned.”

Ivan wordlessly reached across the table with his fork to cut off a piece of Alfred's pancake, then popped it into his mouth with a smile. He made a point to open his mouth once more after he'd swallowed to prove that he wasn't just faking it.

“Second,” said Alfred sourly. He actually  _was_ pretty hungry, and – though it wasn't made by Matthew's hands – it smelled absolutely delicious. If he was going to die no matter what, surely he could at least die having tasted Matthew's pancake recipe one last time. “I can't move my hands.”

“That's what servants are for,” said Ivan, motioning off to the right where the servant who'd brought the food had taken a seat. “I'd prefer if you didn't try to bite his fingers off. Surely not even you would go after noncombatants.”

The servant shuddered. It was obvious he hadn't taken the job willingly.

“I don't hurt civilians, no,” said Alfred. “Which is more than can be said for you. How many civilians were in the castle you destroyed?”

“Excellent. Please go ahead and feed him, then,” said Ivan to the servant, who warily reached out in front of Alfred to deliver a piece of pancake from the place to his mouth.

Alfred accepted it without a fight. He was a man of honor, after all, and he wasn't about to hurt someone who wasn't even a soldier out of sheer spite. That, and it wouldn't exactly do him any good. He would just be quite literally biting the hand that fed him.

Much as he hated to admit it, the pancake was completely delicious. He liked to think that it wasn't quite as good as Matthew's, but damn if it wasn't the next best thing. Alfred could tell right away that, even for a breakfast as simple as pancakes, no expense had been spared. There was no doubt in his mind that they'd used top-quality flour and eggs, among other things. Even the chocolate was the good stuff, worlds apart from the occasional cheap treat that they used to hand out in the orphanage.

“So? How does it taste?” asked Ivan politely.

“Like shit,” answered Alfred easily. “Unfortunately, my stomach feels like it's about to digest itself, so I guess I haven't really got a choice. Wouldn't want to die hungry. Maybe the contents of my stomach will even spray all over your face, depending on the method.” He made a point to say it as casually as possible, as though the prospect of his pending execution didn't even bother him.

“To die hungry would be most unfortunate,” agreed Ivan. Alfred was beginning to hate him even more than before. Maybe it was just part of being a prince, but he seemed to have perfected the art of letting insults bounce off of him like glue on rubber.

The next few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as Ivan ate and Alfred was fed. Were the situation not so dire, Alfred might have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Aside from the armed guards, everything seemed far too peaceful. The room itself had a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere, and the courtyard outside was breathtaking in its beauty. Occasionally, a bird would land on the windowsill and tweet something to its companions before fluttering off, unaware of the tension taking place just on the other side.

“You know,” said Ivan out of nowhere, “I was very surprised to find out that you had a twin brother.”

Alfred swallowed the piece of food in his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

“Don't you even think about touching him,” said Alfred.

“Not that you could stop me even if you wanted to,” said Ivan, “but I wouldn't dream of doing so. From what Beatrice told me – that is to say, that lovely woman who captured you – he's just an unremarkable speech-writer, is he not? I have no interest in him.”

Much as Alfred wanted to say otherwise and inform him that Matthew was significantly  _more_ than that, he held his tongue.

_I'm sorry, Mattie. It's for the best that he doesn't think you're anything special. You'll find a new mouthpiece soon, and when the war is all over, Arthur and Francis will make sure that you get the credit you deserve._

“So he's okay?” asked Alfred carefully.

“Well, provided he managed to escape the castle in time,” said Ivan. “The whole building was reduced to rubble mere minutes after you were taken back to the helicopter.”

Alfred could feel his heart practically stop. Matthew, dead? There was no way.

“He's alive,” said Alfred with conviction. Him  _and_ Gilbert. Matthew wasn't quite as strong as Alfred, as had been proven by many an arm-wrestling match, but he  _was_ strong, and he wouldn't die so easily. “I know he is.”

“If you say so,” said Ivan, sipping a glass of what looked to be water. “I only bring it up because you seemed so distressed about the pancakes. He must be very important to you.”

Shit. “He doesn't mean anything to me,” lied Alfred. If he tried to catch Matthew to get information out of him, or worse, just to torture him emotionally as well as physically, he wasn't sure what he would do. “You're right. I'm just in it for the attention. I  _enjoy_ overshadowing him!”

Ivan shook his head.

“You're a terrible liar. But be at ease,” he said when Alfred opened his mouth to argue. “As I've already said, I have no intention of going after your brother. I only wish to learn more about you. Is that so wrong?”

“When you're gonna use that information for your own evil purposes? Yes,” said Alfred angrily. “It's wrong.  _Very_ wrong.”

“ 'Evil?' ” repeated Ivan, appearing surprised by the term. A grin broke out across his face, and he started to laugh. “Evil! I can't believe you just used that word!”

Alfred's cheeks turned scarlet with rage.

“Well, it's true!” shouted Alfred. “You're  _evil!_ You and your damned family, walking around like your lives are the only ones that matter!”

Every word only seemed to make Ivan laugh harder, until he was gasping for breath.

“Your worldview,” he said upon successfully composing himself, “is very black and white. I can see why the rebels chose you to be their mouthpiece. You honestly believe in every word they tell you to speak, don't you?”

“What's not to believe?” demanded Alfred. “You think because you were born into power that it makes you better than everyone else? That you  _deserve_ to rule over people and treat those of us who weren't so lucky like dirt? Even now, children are starving on the street while you have an entire room dedicated solely to breakfast! A courtyard that could be turned into farmland!”

“This castle is older than the both of us combined,” said Ivan calmly. “Would you have me tear down all of its unnecessary rooms for its own sake? Even demolishing things costs money, you know.”

“You could house the poor!”

“I do house the poor who are willing to work,” said Ivan. “It's called the servant's quarters. And before you cry about the children, I'll have you know that the orphanages within this duchy are quite well-funded. It's a terrible shame that the barony of Ephenette was not so, but this is not something within the royal family's control.”

“Like hell it isn't! You're a fucking prince, aren't you?” demanded Alfred.

“Your ignorance is quite shocking, I admit,” said Ivan, much to Alfred's displeasure. “Very well. I'll explain it to you in a way simple enough for you to understand. This nation is a large one, and the crown can't hope to micromanage every last part of it, even with the advent of modern technology and long-term communication. Some tasks must be delegated to others. To that end, the king or queen can hand-pick certain trusted individuals and give them landed titles, oftentimes as a reward for some exceptional deed, or to gain favor with a certain noble house. These individuals are from then on known as 'vassals,' on top of the titles the amount of land they've been bequeathed endows them with. Those given a barony become barons or baronesses, those given a county become counts or countesses, and those given a duchy become dukes or duchesses. The current ruler becomes their liege. I, too, have been granted the Duchy of Wyv by the crown, as is common for children of the royal family. However, the title of 'prince' is higher than 'Duke of Wyv,' hence why you'll rarely hear me addressed as such short of an extremely formal event in which all titles are listed.”

“I know how titles work!” said Alfred angrily through a mouthful of pancake.

“As I was saying, regardless of their prior standing, one who has been made a vassal becomes a noble, as does their family. Their title, and all the land that comes with it, are passed down that family to the firstborn. For example, let's say that you've been given a duchy by the crown,” said Ivan. Alfred balked at the very idea. “As a duke, you're free to grant land within your duchy to others, who will in turn become  _your_ vassals, making  _you_ their liege. That is to say, as a duke, you might feel inclined to grant a county or barony within your duchy to your brother, oh, Matthew, was it?”

“Don't about him like you know him!”

“As a duke, you're responsible for the duchy under your care, as well as collecting taxes. In exchange for this duty, you're allowed to keep the larger percentage of taxes and allot it as you see fit. You may also amass troops and use them to whatever ends you so desire. Though the king's authority usurps your own, it would be foolish of him to exert it more than necessary to avoid upsetting other vassals, each of whom would prefer to maintain as much power over their own land as they can. Such is the nature of humans.”

“Oh, so I get to spend my childhood forced to steal in order to scrounge up enough food for me and my brother so you don't have to deal with  _nobles getting cranky?”_

“Please allow me to finish, Alfred,” said Ivan patiently. “Did I not  _just_ say that vassals amass their own troops? Not only does this make them a force to be reckoned with should they decide to go against the crown's authority, but they may even refuse to send these troops to assist us in times of war with neighboring nations, as is their responsibility when they are so called.”

“Wow,” said Alfred. He would have given Ivan a slow, sarcastic round of applause if his hands weren't bound to a chair. “Great system! Create  _more_ lines of rich idiots who have no idea what normal people need 'cause they grew up in the fucking lap o' luxury. Fuck that! Leaders should serve the needs of the people, not the other way around, and they should be chosen by the people based on their merits, not their ancestry!”

“It's a very idealistic system that the rebellion has dreamed up,” said Ivan. “But, as someone who spent their entire childhood being educated in the ways of politics, economics, and basic human psychology, let me be the first to break the bad news to you; that perfect world you believe is possible is nothing more than a fantasy.”

“Of course someone who has everything to lose when it gets implemented would say that.”

“I, too, used to be an idealist, believe it or not,” said Ivan wistfully. “I used to think that leaders themselves were wholly unnecessary, and that a true utopia would be formed when nothing belonged to anybody, and everything belonged to everyone.”

“Oh, really? And what happened to  _that_ Ivan, huh?”

Ivan's gaze hardened.

“...I grew up,” he said after a long moment of silent contemplation. “I learned that the vast majority of humans tend to be stupid, selfish, or both. Your 'perfect' system of governance in which people are elected based on their merits is a lie based on sheer ignorance of our own nature. Oh, it may work initially. One or two generations in, though? Who do you think will be able to gain the most exposure and, as follows, support? The poor? No. It's going to be someone rich and probably well-known to begin with who knows how to lie their way to the top. You seek to base success on ambition, rather than birthright. At least when you base it on birthright, there's a chance that your ruler will be someone kindhearted, such as my sister, Yekaterina. When you base it on ambition, you will  _always_ get someone out for their own interests.”

“You're full of shit,” said Alfred flatly, just as he finished off the piece of bacon on his plate. “People aren't as stupid and gullible as you take them for.”

“If that's what you truly believe,” said Ivan, not appearing to be in any mood to argue. “In any case, the sleeping medication should be kicking in any moment, now. I'd rather not have to move you to the medical table conscious.”

Once again, Alfred was left shocked. “Sleep medication? What?”

Ivan gestured towards the pancakes.

“But,” said Alfred disbelievingly.  _“You_ ate them!”

“I did,” said Ivan, yawning. “I never said they  _weren't_ poisoned. It's only a weak, slow-acting sleep medication. I only ingested a little, so I should be awake within a half an hour. You, however, will probably be asleep for an hour or two, depending on how good your body is at purging such things from your system.”

It was in that moment that Alfred became keenly aware that Ivan might have had a few screws loose.

“You crazy son of a bitch!” said Alfred, but he was already beginning to feel sleepy. At least it wasn't quite as nauseating as the drug that had gotten him captured, but that was no small comfort when he was about to be carted off for a torturous execution. He briefly wondered if it would be large and well-publicized, or small and behind closed doors. Torturing him seemed rather pointless if no one else could see it; but then, Ivan was quite clearly insane.

“May we both sleep well before your big moment,” said Ivan in a joking tone as he stood up, presumably to be escorted somewhere a little more comfortable than a table to pass out. “And may  _you,_ my little rebel,  _rest in peace.”_

“You're gonna rest in  _pieces_ when the rebellion is through with you!” said Alfred angrily.

“So cute,” said Ivan affectionately as, against Alfred's expectations, he walked over to him once again. Alfred gritted his teeth, fully expecting that he'd finally lost his temper and was about to strike him. If he was quick, maybe he could bite him. Wait, why was Ivan's face getting so close to-

Alfred could only sit there in shock as Ivan cradled the back of his head and pressed their lips together. He remained like that for just long enough to confirm that no, it wasn't a drug-induced hallucination or a dream, then hurriedly pulled away before he finally regained his senses and attempted to rip his lip off with his teeth.

“What the  _fuck?”_ said Alfred, making it a point to spit, disgusted.  _“What the fuck?”_

“I almost wish the both of us weren't about to fall asleep,” said Ivan. “Your confused face is probably the cutest I've seen yet!”

“Fuck you,” were Alfred's final, bitter words as his eyes closed and his head rolled back. He could hear the sound of guards scurrying around as Ivan, too, collapsed, though it sounded as though he'd been caught mid-fall. All too quickly, his consciousness began to fade yet again.

 

 

* * *

 

The second time Alfred woke up, he was strapped face-down to a table. Fortunately, whoever had designed it had been kind enough to leave a padded hole in the bottom for his face, ensuring that the strap securing his head down wasn't pushing his nose into the unforgiving metal. His view was mostly limited to the shiny black floor under the table that looked strangely like a television screen, though he could see a little of the floor around it, as well as the feet of those close to the table. He tried to move, but his bonds were even more thorough than before. Even his individual fingers and toes were locked into place.

“The fuck?” he vocalized, and instantly regretted it.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Ivan. Alfred could see his fancy-shmancy boots as he approached the table. “What did you dream about?”

“You dying slowly and painfully,” said Alfred.  Ha.  Haha.  It was funny because that was what was about to happen to  _him._   “What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

Ivan's pleased little 'hum' seemed to indicate that he was more than happy to answer.

“Be honored, little rebel, for the device you've been strapped into is some of the most advanced – and experimental – medical technology yet discovered by mankind,” said Ivan.

“Great,” said Alfred in a shakier voice than he'd hoped for. “I'll be sure to remember that in my grave. Thanks, pal. Means a lot.”

Ivan giggled.  _Giggled._ Like a  _schoolchild._

“You're so silly, Alfred,” said Ivan. “But yes, I would hope that you remember it, as it's quite expensive to run. Here, this should help you get a better look!”

Something 'clicked,' and the screen-like thing on the ground flickered to life to display a few different views of the room. Most prominently displayed was a top-down image of Alfred's entire back side, with the others showing him from various other angles, like the side. It was at that point that he noticed he'd been stripped of all his clothing. Between that and the kiss earlier, he found himself even more disgusted than before.

“Sick freak. You're getting off on this, aren't you?” said Alfred. And to think, it would all be recorded on video for him to masturbate to later.

“Moderately, perhaps,” admitted Ivan. Alfred gagged.

He could hear a few other people stepping about the room. Another set of feet approached the table.

“Shall we begin the procedure, Prince Ivan?” asked a voice.

Alfred shuddered. Shit. His agonizing expiration was  _really_ close. There was so much more he'd hoped to do with his life. So much he'd yearned to see. And how did it end? Snuff pornography for a psychotic prince.

“Just a moment,” said Ivan. “I'd like to speak with him just a little longer.”

“The feeling isn't mutual!” said Alfred.

“Surely you'd like to know what's about to happen to you,” said Ivan.

Uhg. No, the anticipation of what was to come would only make it worse.

“Like it even matters! Let's just get this over with! My public awaits,” said Alfred sarcastically.

“Actually, this is being done privately. Though, now that I think of it, releasing the video to the rebels afterward is an excellent idea,” said Ivan. “What a little trooper you are! You're going to do quite nicely. Have fun!” He strolled away, and his tone of voice became more serious with the next three words he spoke. “Start the machine.”

_Click!_

Alfred winced preemptively as something behind – or, rather, above him – whirred to life.

_Shitshitshitshitshit,_ was about all he could think. Sweat trickled down his face to the tip of his nose, where it dripped to the floor. He could see from the video feed beneath him that his face had gone deathly pale.  _I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm really, truly going to fucking die, and they're going to make me watch the whole time._

He wasn't sure whether to look or squeeze his eyes shut as the side camera showed a device being lowered, closing in on his back. It looked to be a series of mechanical arms with various devices at the end. One set even seemed to wield surgical sutures.

One with what appeared to be a syringe filled with clear fluid descended towards his back. After all that, were they really going to do him in via lethal injection? There was just no way.

_“Subject located and confirmed conscious. Continue with procedure?”_ said the machine in a robotic, female voice.

Great. It was gonna fucking  _narrate,_ wasn't it?

“Continue,” confirmed Ivan. He sounded like he was keeping his distance from the machine. That wasn't very reassuring.

_ “Continuing with spinal modification. Please take note of the emergency shut-off switch,”  _ reminded the voice politely. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Were they going to torture him by doing something to his spine?  _ “Administering modified platypus venom.” _

“Modified platypus venom? Platypuses have  _venom?_ Are you fucking kidding m- nngh!”

Alfred bit his lip as the needle plunged into his back. It wasn't the most painful thing he'd ever felt, but the machine was unmerciful in its approach.  Worse still, the sting of it lingered.   Rather than ease up once the needle was removed, it actually seemed to become even more painful with each passing second, like a sting.  Unsurprising, given that it was some sort of a venom derivative.

“Fuck,” he swore breathily. He had to stay strong. The video was going to be sent to the rebels, after all. “Do your fucking worst, motherfuckers!”

_“Hyperalgesia confirmed,”_ said the machine.  _“Now beginning laser surgery.”_

As though out of nowhere, a little red beam shot into his back, right beneath his hairline. It felt like he'd just been stabbed with a needle as hot as the sun. He tried to bear it for a time, but it only took a few seconds of the laser slicing through the flesh and muscle of his upper back and cutting downwards between his shoulder blades for him to begin screaming.

It hurt. Good  _God,_ did it  _hurt!_ It hurt even more than he'd thought it was going to hurt, and he'd expected quite a bit of hurt!

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he chanted as it cut its way down his lower back, stopping just short of the crack of his ass. He'd trained to deal with torture before, but none of those simulations could have hoped to come close to the real thing. Although he could see that it had sliced through all the flesh, no blood spilled from the wound, perhaps because it had all been cauterized by the heat of the laser.

_This isn't that bad,_ he tried to tell himself.  _I can do this._

The laser vanished, and four arms descended on the wound to seize the flaps and pull the skin and muscle apart, fully exposing his vulnerable spine. Tears welled up in his eyes as he strained against the straps pinning him to the table. How could it hurt so fucking much? He'd been sliced open before! Anesthesia wasn't always available on the front lines. It had been painful then, too, but not to such an extent!

He closed his eyes tightly, unable to stand watching any longer. Could they allow him just a shred of dignity? Or was that too much to ask?

_“Now inserting nervous signal amplifier.”_

Alfred made the mistake of opening his eyes just long enough to see a small, spidery metal device get latched onto his spine, right at the base of his neck.

_“Testing nervous signal amplifier.”_

Something  _clicked_ once again. Alfred braced himself, but it wasn't enough for the sensation that followed.

He screamed.

 

* * *

 

Ivan was having a pretty good day.

He watched with great fascination from the sidelines as his trophy was subjected to what he incorrectly assumed to be a method of execution. Oh, sure, Ivan supposed he could have mentioned something to the contrary, but Alfred was almost criminally cute when he was frightened, and he  _had_ been rather rude throughout breakfast.

Ivan sighed happily. He'd been so worried that Alfred would be completely different in person than he was in the videos. And true, he was a fair bit less intelligent than he'd expected, but honestly, that only made him more endearing. He was such a passionate, gullible, idealistic idiot willing to go through just about anything if it netted him positive attention. Ivan knew his type, and he was perfect for his purposes.

His phone vibrated and rang to the tune of the national anthem. He'd only assigned that ringtone to one person. With a frown, Ivan sadly excused himself from the room where Alfred lay screaming to answer. Right at the best part, too! At least he would have the video.

“This is Prince Ivan Braginsky speaking,” he said automatically. “How can I help you, my liege?”

“I received the confirmation that you captured the rebel,” said the king. “Consider me impressed. I never would have thought to drop boulders on the building's weak points, and it seems to have worked. It's archaic, but brilliant.”

Ivan's cheeks shone just the faintest shade of pink. What could he say? He was a sucker for praise. Weren't most humans?

“Thank you, my liege.  I only regret that the castle had to be destroyed,” said Ivan. “I trust you've sent the papers I requested?”

“Of course, Prince Ivan. I happily entrust the rebel to your care, and expect that you'll make a fine example of him,” confirmed the king. “You can expect a sizable monetary reward, as well. Might I ask where he is now?”

“Mid-surgery,” answered Ivan. The line was thoroughly encrypted. Even if it weren't, the rebels already knew exactly where Alfred was; they just couldn't get to him.

“Surgery?”

“Yes. I've had some testing done in recent days, and I'm having a device implanted that can amplify sensitivity to pain, among other things, by strengthening signals sent from nerves to the brain,” said Ivan. “It can even stimulate the reward center of the brain with the click of a button. We're not quite at a level where I can just rewrite his entire mind to suit our needs-” as though that would even be any  _fun!_ “-but this is about as modernized as carrot-and-the-stick conditioning gets. It even has a built-in GPS, and can only be safely removed by the machine, which the rebels don't have access to.”

“It sounds rather impractical,” said the king. “The battery life on such a device can't be good.”

“Yes, well, if you would just read one of the medical research reports I've been sending you for the past several years,” said Ivan, somewhat annoyed, “you might be surprised to find that we can power such a device with body heat and blood flow now. The only reason it will ever need to be removed is for maintenance and general upkeep.”

“I'm not as young as I used to be, boy,” said the king. “So, your intention is to break him, then?”

“Of course. To simply torture him might strike fear into the hearts of the rebels, but it would make us look cruel. We must appear firm, but fair,” said Ivan. “With time, he will become a mouthpiece for  us, instead of the rebels.”

“And in exchange, you expect...?”

Ivan pressed his fingers to his temples. Father was always so paranoid.

“For the last time, I have no interest in the throne,” Ivan assured him. “Princess Yekaterina is far more suited to such things than I am.”

“And yet you so fervently pressed for ownership of a prominent rebel figure. Are you trying to tell me you  _don't_ want to use him to win the support of the former rebels once it's quelled?”

Huh. In hindsight, that actually  _was_ kind of suspicious. Woops.

“My reasons for wanting him are far less ambitious than you think, I assure you.”

“And what are they, then?”

Ivan gritted his teeth. If the king wasn't going to believe him when he dodged the issue, it was best to face it head on.

“Because I'm sexually attracted to him,” said Ivan. “Are you happy now?”

A long, uncomfortable moment passed between them.

“I, well,” coughed the king. “I didn't realize you were...”

“You never asked,” said Ivan.

“So you mean to tell me that you spent all that money on his capture for-”

“Yes. It had to be done regardless, so I decided to do it myself. I didn't see anyone complaining at the meeting.”

“No,” said the king. “No, that's fine. I suppose you, well, you don't  _need_ an heir, though Yekaterina's vassals may fight over the duchy upon your demise.”

“We can turn sperm cells into egg cells now, my liege. At least read the  _abstracts_ of the research.”

“My place is politics, not the medical field,” said the king. “And speaking of which, I'm afraid I must be off. Good, ah, good conversation.”

“I humbly ask that you don't tell Princess Natalya.”

“Of course.”

Ivan hit the 'end call' button and slipped the phone back into its case. That wasn't exactly how he'd expected that moment to go. Oh well. Life never went how you planned it. Sometimes you just had to come out as gay to your father to ensure that you didn't spark a civil war that would kill thousands that could potentially result in your assassination in order to maintain a central authority. Such was life.

He couldn't help but laugh. Alfred couldn't hope to understand the complicated world of politics, but perhaps his stupidity would make him easier to educate. 

A text notification popped up on his phone.

_'Petitioners at the door?_ ' The court wasn't open over the weekend! He'd specifically planned everything so he would have time to spend with Alfred!

 Yet another text popped up, and he reluctantly opened it.

_'You have to get to court this instant!'_ wrote Toris, in no uncertain terms.  _'Word has gotten out that you've captured the rebel! Everyone at the door is either petitioning for his release, or demanding to see the execution!'_

Ivan took another peak inside the operating room. Alfred appeared to have passed out, and was no longer screaming. A shot of adrenaline might have woken him back up, but without his orders, it seemed the lab techs hadn't seen fit to administer it. The mechanical arms had already begun peeling off the flesh on the back of his head – carefully preserving the hairline – and drilling into it to access his brain. It would only be a few short minutes before it finished installing the device and sealed him back up, upon which time he would be escorted to his new home and given a shot of pain medication for his recovery.

Damn it. If he had to deal with petitioners, he wouldn't even be able to watch him wake up and try to figure out why he was still alive. What a shame. He would have to hope that the video feed was just as satisfying to watch. It would be interesting to see Alfred trying to figure out his new surroundings (and why he was still alive) without assistance.

_'Tell them I'm on my way,'_ he wrote.

Ivan stopped a servant strolling by with a touch of her shoulder. She carried a feather duster in her hand. Compared to his situation, such tasks could wait.

“Fetch my crown and bring it with you to the throne room,” said Ivan. It was time for a little public speaking of his own. “And take care to come around the back way. I think some of them might be out for blood.”

“Yes, Prince Ivan. Right away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it display the note for the first chapter below this one? Any way to keep that for chapter one and get rid of it for the rest of the story? :| Anyway, thanks for reading! Sorry that I'm so inept. OTL


	3. The Good Boy Module

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, we fall into our intended schedule of one update per week, every Friday! That's right, I'm gonna try to keep a regular schedule going. Chapter four is already partly done, so I'd say things are going pretty well so far. Anyway, thanks for sticking with the story, guys! <3 Please enjoy this next installment. Or not. I'm open to criticism.

Alfred had never been a morning person, but being made to go unconscious three times in a row was just too much. Although he'd returned to the realm of awareness, he was reluctant to open his eyes. The bed he'd found himself in was just too comfortable, and the temperature just right. Everything was perfect, like he'd died and gone to Heaven!

Wait. Shit. He really _had_ died, hadn't he?

All at once, Alfred's eyes snapped open, and he jerked himself into an upright position. Pain shot through his back the moment he began to hunch forward, forcing him to sit up perfectly straight in order to avoid it. Was the afterlife just a stickler for proper posture?

Alfred scanned the room. The plush blue bed he'd been sleeping in was suspiciously similar to that of a dog, in that it was rounded with short little cushion walls to prevent him rolling off in his sleep. One of those sides was left open to get in and out through but it seemed a pointless feature, seeing as it was on the floor and easily stepped in and out of, if not crawled over.

He slowly and unsteadily rose to his feet, a scowl on his face. The whole thing reeked of Ivan's handiwork. That meant that somehow, some way, he was alive, after all. But how, and to what end? Alfred turned his gaze to the walls and ceiling. He was closed in by thin metal bars that ran both horizontally and vertically, creating squares just barely large enough to poke the tips of his fingers through. However, rather than be embedded into anything, it seemed as though he were trapped inside a scaled-up cage. Although it was located in a corner of the room, there were still bars where it was pressed up against the lavender wall.

They hadn't seen fit to return his clothes, but he noticed his glasses sitting beside the bed, thankfully not stepped on. Alfred quickly put them on, grabbed the red blanket to wrap around his still-naked waist, and took an experimental step forward. The ceiling, also made up of bars, was only slightly higher than his head; his cowlick would poke through the holes if he stood on his toes. The black floor, on the other hand, was smooth and flat against his bare feet.

All told, the cage – for it could hardly be called a traditional cell – was slightly larger than the walk-in closet he'd briefly had in his room of the rebel-controlled castle, and was not without the usual prison amenities. A toilet detached from any plumbing sat up against one of the two sides pressed against the wall. Hanging from the bars beside it was one of those fancy automatic hand-washing devices that worked by having two oblong holes to insert ones' arms into, then spraying them down with soapy water from various directions.

Ah, yes, water. Alfred swallowed, but his throat felt dry and uncomfortable. Those pancakes he'd had God-only-knew how long ago hadn't been enough to sate his thirst. He carefully stuck his hand into one of the holes, resulting in a torrent of cleansing water, but there was no way he could fit his entire face in there. Even if he could, it would only yield a mouthful of soap.

He turned around. On the other end of the cage where the bars were exposed to the rest of the room, two objects were hung from the side. Alfred moved closer and knelt down to take a better look.

One was a lidded blue box, though no amount of prying would get it open. It extended to the outside of the cage, where its contents seemed accessible through another lid. It took him a moment to figure it out, but he eventually noticed two trigger-style switches beneath the box. When he pressed both of them at the same time, and _only_ when he pressed both at the same time, the lid came up to expose something that looked suspiciously like kibble. He tried letting go of one of the triggers to pick one up, but the lid immediately closed upon doing so. In other words, he had to eat with his face, like some sort of an animal. Sick fuck.

The device next to it had a much more obvious purpose, though its presentation had him in disbelief. On the outside of the cage was a large tube of water, much like a bottle for hamsters, but bigger. Rather than a simple tube, however, the nozzle pointing inside had been quite blatantly modeled to look like a man's erect genitalia.

“That disgusting _perv,”_ growled Alfred. Was this _really_ how Ivan chose to treat his prisoners? How perfectly terrible. Dry as his throat was, he couldn't bring himself to put his lips around it, and instead opted to look through the bars to try and figure out where he was.

The room he was located in didn't appear to be any sort of a dungeon. Rather, it seemed more along the lines of a really fancy bedroom, even more so than the one he'd had back at the castle. He stared out the massive window on the other end of the room where the bed sat. The sunflower courtyard it overlooked from above was bathed in twilight. Given that the sun had been rising there, earlier, but was nowhere to be seen on the horizon, Alfred concluded that it was probably the end of the day. It was almost hard to believe he'd spent the better part of it unconscious.

“Sun rises in the east...” he murmured to no one in particular. So if the sunflower field was on the east side of the courtyard, he wanted to go to the right in relation to it, since Ephenette was south of Wyv. It was far too long of a walk, though, so he would have to find transport. A proper car would be preferable, but a horse might prove easier to steal, depending on how secure the stables were. Alfred didn't know _why_ he was alive, but if he _was,_ he wasn't about to just sit idly and wait for that to no longer be the case. Getting out meant being proactive and coming up with a plan at the earliest possible opportunity.

A plan. To escape. That he had to make. On his own.

He wished he could talk to Matthew. Matthew would know what to do. Alfred mournfully pressed his face against the bars.

The bars swung out, and he stumbled forward with it, nearly falling flat on his face in the process.

For a moment, Alfred couldn't understand what had just happened. He turned back towards the cage. A quick inspection showed no locks, but he recognized the mechanics in place. The door was magnetically sealed, and _someone_ must not have double-checked to make sure that said magnets were actually on after the door was closed.

_I don't know who you are, random idiot, but I sure as hell owe you one!_

He looked around. As far as he could tell, no guards had been stationed inside the room. It seemed the prince wasn't quite as smart as he'd made himself out to be. Who left a prisoner with no guards?

A smug grin on his face, Alfred tightened the blanket around his waist. He was one hell of a fighter, if he did say so himself, but not even he could single-handedly escape the prince's castle unarmed. Surely there had to be some kind of weapon in the room.

He took a look around. If his suspicions were correct, he was in the bedroom of the prince himself. Who else would get what had to be the best view of the courtyard?

Not only was Ivan some perverted maniac, but he had one of the most dorky rooms Alfred had ever seen. Well, dorky with a royal touch, of course, but still. It was one thing to decorate all the walls with stars, but all of the constellations displayed were perfectly to scale, as well as in the appropriate locations relative to the others. Rather than a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, as he'd expected, light shone down from a model of the sun, around which all twelve planets rotated on a track. Even Thelmite, the one that scientists were still arguing about as far as whether it was a planet or not!

Alfred coughed and averted his eyes. Okay, so maybe the prince's decorations _were_ kind of cool. That didn't matter. He had to find a weapon. Better yet, clothing.

He scoured the room, both surprised and unsurprised to find some gaming consoles by the television. And was that _Super Planetary Warriors 7: Legends of Beyond the Universe_ on the shelf? How was he ever supposed to enjoy that game again knowing that it was also played by the _prince,_ of all people?

“Way to ruin an entire _series,_ asshole,” muttered Alfred.

Alfred attempted to rifle through the drawers, but – and he couldn't quite believe it, himself – every last one of them seemed to be locked with a fingerprint scanner. It seemed downright impractical, to him, but that didn't make it any less real. Needless to say, it put quite a damper on his day. He tried to ease his frustration by smashing the consoles, but they and the games were all safely behind a shield of what seemed to be bulletproof glass. Even the television and the window to the courtyard seemed impervious to his frustrated kicks.

 _Okay. So this isn't going quite as well as I'd hoped,_ he noted. He had to remain calm. Deep breaths. It didn't have to be something that was _intended_ to be a weapon, it just had to be something he could use to defend himself.

He took another look around the room, doing his best to keep an open mind. At the very least, he was feeling significantly better than the last two times he'd been awake. Bound to a chair and a table, he'd been helpless, but with all four limbs free, he was Alfred motherfucking Jones, a soldier feared by the opposition.

His uniform and bulletproof armor would have been a bit more comfortable than a blanket, of course, but you had to work with what you were given. For the sake of mobility, he knew that the sheet would have to go, but modesty came second to freedom. _Let_ them all have a look at his perfectly-sculpted body. Even Ivan could have a peak, right before his eyes were gouged out of his skull.

Briefly, he made the mistake of hunching too far over again, inviting yet another burst of fiery pain from his lower back to his neck and head. It was clear he wasn't going to be in top fighting condition, but when were the conditions ever perfect in a war?

“Let's see, here,” said Alfred. He had to hurry it up. Who knew how much time he had before someone returned?

A skinnier desk lamp with the top of the bulb broken to form sharp tips might have done the trick, but Ivan's were too bulky to properly swing or stab with. Had the bathroom door been unlocked, he would have gone for a razor, but no such luck. After much thought, Alfred decided to settle on a pair of pens from the desk. Not the greatest weapon, but better than nothing.

Alfred undid the blanket and let it fall to the floor. He took a deep breath as he approached the big, fancy-looking set of double-doors that could only be the exit. If it was locked, as the balcony door had been, he would grab as many tools as he could and hide them in the cage for a future opportunity.

Gingerly, he pushed down on the handle.

It was unlocked.

A grin crossed his face. He took another deep breath to calm his nerves. Without a doubt, there would be guards outside the door and in the hall. Once he started his escape, he couldn't stop to rest.

One.

Two.

_Three!_

He _kicked_ the right door open with all of his might, and it slammed hard against whoever had been standing just beside it, knocking them to the floor. The opposite guard had a look of complete and utter shock on his face, but before he could react, Alfred had already pulled him forward and kneed him hard enough in the ribs to break them. As he lay on the ground a sputtering mess, Alfred quickly but carefully took the gun from his person, though he refrained from shooting them in order to conserve ammo and avoid making noise.

Alfred looked left, then right. A servant rounding the corner shrieked with horror upon seeing him and took off running in the opposite direction, most likely towards an area with the most guards. Great. Alfred made it a point to turn and run the other way, his trigger finger ready. He had no idea what the layout of the castle was, but if he could find the stairs, or an elevator, that would be a start.

At the corner, he stopped, and carefully peeked around it with his back to the wall. His heartbeat raced along even so. A handful of servants were dusting off decorative vases and framed paintings while a single guard patrolled the hall, lazily headed in Alfred's direction. He flicked the gun's safety on and briefly set it aside.

_Wait for it..._

Just as the guard came around the corner, Alfred reached out to cover his mouth and struck him solidly in the head, knocking him out cold. In a true battle, he would have gone for a fatal blow, but right then, he couldn't risk making any unnecessary noise, including that of crunching bones.

He gently set the limp guard on the floor beside him, then took another look around the corner. No one appeared to have noticed.

_Okay, what's my next move?_

He turned to look at the guard, then gazed down at his own unarmored form. Quickly, he began stripping him of his uniform. In all the drills he'd done back in Ephenette, he'd become quite adept at dressing himself quickly. Within two short minutes, Alfred was donning all but the guard's underwear, which he opted to leave on as a small mercy (and also because his dick was NOT going where some complete stranger's dick had been), even as he took all of his guns, knives, and ammunition.

The guard showed signs of stirring as he adjusted the hat. Alfred gave him a swift kick in the head to rectify that. Were he undiscovered, he would have hidden the body, but the servant from before had almost certainly alerted someone already. He was just trying to ensure that no more servants caused a furor; his location was probably already known to whoever was manning the cameras.

Alfred adopted a much more relaxed, official-looking posture – not hard, considering he was a soldier, himself – and finally emerged from around the corner he'd been hiding behind, trying to look as though he belonged. It seemed to work, as none of the servants paid him much heed. Granted, none of them were turning around to take a close look at his face, but he wasn't about to stick around and find out how many of them paid attention to the news.

It was nerve-wracking to continue on at what felt like a snail's pace, just _walking._ The very moment he was out of sight of the servants, he practically charged forward at a breakneck pace, guessing his way through every fork in the path. How was it that one solved mazes, again? Stay along the right wall?

The radio on his hip suddenly buzzed.

“Eduard? Eduard, this is Raivis, do you copy? The rebel has escaped! He's headed in your direction, over!”

Alfred grimaced. Was it best to avoid answering that? He didn't know the voice of the guard he'd knocked out. Well, if they already knew his location, he supposed it couldn't hurt. They would find the body if they kept going that direction, anyway.

“The rebel has just turned around. I repeat, the rebel has just turned around,” said Alfred, hoping that the fact that he was gasping for breath would help to disguise his voice. Radios already sounded somewhat muffled, anyway. “I am in pursuit. Ready an ambush, over!”

“Rodger that, out!”

Alfred beamed. _Score!_ He was going to rub his brilliant escape all over Matthew's smarty-pants face when he got back.

“Raivis, do you copy? Over!” blared the radio.

“Copy, over!” said the voice from before.

“We have a Code Blue Rose, over.”

Alfred frowned. That had to have something to do with him.

“C-copy, over!” stammered Raivis. He sounded rather distressed. “Eduard, do you copy? Over!”

“Copy, over,” said Alfred cautiously as he passed through several more servants sweeping up the floors. Like the others, they paid him little heed. He came to a stop and quickly looked over the doors. Surely one of them had to have a _map_ of some kind! If only he could ask directions without sounding suspicious!”

“Cease pursuit of the rebel and remain in place! We're sending back-up, over!”

Alfred paused. They were telling him to stop his pursuit right after hearing a code from some unknown entity?

“Copy that, out,” said Alfred. He had to find the exit. It didn't take a genius to sniff out _that_ trap. They must have communicated his true identity through that code.

He gritted his teeth. There was nothing for it, then. He had to ask. Taking care to make sure he asked one of the servants who hadn't been within earshot of the conversation, he approached a young woman and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said in as calm a voice as he could. “I'm a little new to this job, and I'm kind of lost.”

Her eyes went straight to his hat. Shit, he'd hoped she wouldn't pay attention to the seniority markings. Before she could call him out on it, he hastily wrapped one arm around her body, unholstered the handgun, checked that the safety was on, and pressed it to her head.

“Sorry,” he couldn't help but apologize as she screamed. It wasn't like he would _really_ shoot a civilian. Still, she had no way of knowing that, and he felt bad that he had to put her through that sort of terror. “I'm gonna need you to tell me where the exit is.”

“D-d-” she began, only to burst into tears.

“Ssssssssh, come on,” said Alfred as the servants around them began flitting about in a panic. “Deep breaths!”

“D-down that h-hallway!” she wailed, pointing to the right. “L-last door!”

“Okay, thanks a bunch, but I'm gonna need to take you with me, just to make sure, okay?” said Alfred. He was in too much of a hurry to waddle his way over there with her in tow, so he hoisted her up into the air, bridal-style, which only furthered her screams. Every time she stopped to take a breath, his ears rung like bells.

He put the gun back into its holster and took off.

* * *

“Free Jones, free the country!” chanted the protestors to the left.

“Execute the traitor! Uphold national unity!” chanted the protestors to the right.

Ivan fought back a headache as he approached the throne, surrounded by guards. A silver crown of amethysts adorned his head, as was the norm when a royal was to address the public.

Ordinarily, there would be an orderly line, with no more than about a few dozen in the throne room at a time. Toris and his underlings were generally charged with filtering out all of the nonsense far before they reached the palace doors. Instead, everything below the raised stage where the throne sat seemed to be packed like a container of sardines.

“Prince Ivan!” cried Toris from the side. “Thank goodness you're here! The court is filled to bursting, with more on the way! The people at the security checkpoint are relentless!”

“Do what you must to hold them back,” said Ivan calmly as he took his seat on the soft purple cushions. “Let them know that we can't take any more, and start making arrests if they fail to comply. This is already a serious fire hazard, as it is.”

Toris nodded in the direction of a guard, who pulled out his radio to give the orders. Once that was taken care of, he switched on the microphone attached to his uniform, and stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Order in the court! Those who speak out of turn will face arrest!” shouted Toris over the crowd. “Order!”

At last, the protests seem to die down somewhat, though a few stray pieces of chatter could still be heard. As long as it didn't make it difficult to hear what they'd all come for, it wasn't worth the bad press to charge them for disorderly conduct.

“All kneel for Prince Ivan Braginsky, Duke of Wyv!”

A series of irritated chattering ensued as it quickly became apparent that there wasn't enough room for everybody to kneel.

“Ahem,” said Toris awkwardly. “All rise!”

The voices died down as Ivan stood up, practically gliding across the floor with each step forward. He took note of the many cameras trained on him by reporters in the crowd. It was big news, after all. He would have to choose his words carefully. There were never any take-backs in politics. All slip-ups would be held against you forever.

“I'm sure many of you have been made aware of rumors that the rebel known as Alfred Jones has entered my custody,” said Ivan. “This is true.”

It took Toris a solid two minutes to quiet down the resulting screams, both victorious and accusatory.

“I know that this carries with it quite a bit of controversy,” said Ivan. “His crimes against this nation are undeniable, supported by video evidence. Ordinarily, the penalty would, indeed, be death. However, in the infinite mercy and wisdom of the crown, his life has been spared. Instead, Alfred Jones has been stripped of human rights and sentenced to a lifetime of service to the crown as its property. Henceforth, he will be reeducated in my custody.”

The pro-unity protestors whooped and cheered as Ivan returned to the throne. Those in support of the rebellion bemoaned the perceived miscarriage of justice.

Toris was about to step forward once more to dismiss the crowd when a guard frantically whispered something into his ear.

 _“What?”_ he said, horrified. Unfortunately, his microphone was still on, meaning it echoed through the room, spurring on whispers of curiosity. Ivan, too, was interested to know what was causing his head steward to look so panicked, particularly as he turned to face the crowd. “Please remain calm! The castle is being evacuated. This is not a drill! The guards will escort you to the emergency exits!”

Ivan switched his microphone off as guards began herding the unruly peasants out the door.

“What is it, Toris?” he asked, speaking loudly so as to be heard over the commotion.

Toris, too, turned his microphone off and leaned in close so as not to be heard by anyone who didn't need to know.

“Alfred escaped! He's taken a hostage!”

Ivan blinked. “Truly?”

“Yes!” said Toris, looking very much like he was about to cry. “He's stolen Eduard's clothes, weapons, radio, and keys! What do we do?”

Oh dear. That _did_ sound quite dire. But impressive!

“Where is he now?” asked Ivan, reaching into his pocket.

“The north wing of the castle, by the stairwell! He's just reached the bottom floor!”

Ivan pulled a small remote control from his pocket. There were several small dials, as well as a few buttons.

“What of the hostage?”

“He's carrying her. All of his weapons are currently holstered, but God only knows for how long!”

Ivan hummed.

“An excellent opportunity to test that nice little device we implanted,” said Ivan.

He clicked one of the buttons with his thumb.

* * *

Alfred was feeling like things were going pretty well, all things considered. Well, he was kind of guilty about traumatizing the poor maid, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice.

“Stop, criminal!” ordered the guards that had come to surround him.

He reluctantly wrapped an arm around the maid's neck.

“Stand down!” said Alfred. “Don't make me-”

_Click!_

A strange sensation overtook him from the neck down. Out of nowhere, he found that his muscles stopped responding to his needs. His limbs felt more like sausages than body parts, and the maid fell to his side as he collapsed in an uncomfortable heap. Alfred _tried_ to move but, for reasons beyond his comprehension, he couldn't manage so much as a twitch.

“The fuck?” he exclaimed as the maid scurried away like a frightened mouse towards the soldiers. His knees and arms were bent at awkward, painful angles beneath him. He could _feel_ that they were there, he just couldn't _move_ them. It felt about as futile as trying to wiggle his ears!

“Don't move!” ordered the guards, every last one of whom had their gun trained on him. Alfred couldn't believe what was happening. Everything had been going perfectly! He'd been well on his way to escape! How could his body just decide to stop doing what he wanted?

Time seemed to drag on indefinitely as guards slowly closed in on his helpless form, but there was something wrong. Once the circle reached a certain size, it seemed no one was willing to approach. Despite his unwillingness to be captured again, Alfred found himself wishing that someone, _anyone,_ would step forward to untangle him.

The guards parted like a river against a boulder to make way for Ivan.

 _Anyone but him!_ Alfred mentally corrected. He glared at the prince with the intensity of the lasers he'd been split apart with earlier.

“How unfortunate,” said Ivan, his arms crossed over his chest. It hadn't been terribly apparent earlier, but when he stood over Alfred's helpless body, it became much more noticeable just how freaking _tall_ he was. “The way I hear it, you were doing quite well for yourself.”

“What the fuck did you people do to me?” demanded Alfred. Oh, how he wanted to grab his ankle, yank him off of his feet, and bash his princely skull against the floor.

“You didn't think that surgery was for nothing, did you?” said Ivan. “I _did_ mention it was the latest in _medical_ technology. Or were you too busy panicking to pay much attention?”

Alfred wasn't about to admit that yeah, he kind of had been.

“Surgery?” said Alfred, and an awful realization hit. His _spine!_ “What the fuck did you do to me?”

Ivan laughed, and Alfred's blood ran cold. An empty feeling filled the pit of his stomach, and he attempted to move his legs with increased desperation.

_Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit!_

“You paralyzed me!” said Alfred. “You fucking paralyzed me!”

“Oh, calm down,” said Ivan, but before he could say more, Alfred began jerking his head in his direction. He would _drag himself with his fucking face,_ if he had to.

“Motherfucker! I'll _kill_ you!”

“If you would just let me finish,” said Ivan, “you would know that it's not permanent.”

The shock began to die down a little, replaced by a tiny ray of hope.

“What?”

“I'll be more than happy to explain on the way. You must be quite uncomfortable down there,” said Ivan. He leaned over and, much to Alfred's surprise, scooped him right on up, in the same bridal-style that he'd used to carry the maid.

Were it anyone else, Alfred might have voiced how impressed he was. He wasn't exactly a light guy, but Ivan hardly seemed to notice. It being the prince, however, he was less inclined to be kind. Instead, he opened his mouth, ready to sink his teeth into his arm. Without use of his shoulders, back, or abs, however, he could only hang limply as Ivan began towards the stairs, watching the world from an upside-down perspective as guards began to surround them.

It was enough to make Alfred laugh.

“Hey,” he said to a guard that looked kind of short with muted blonde hair. “The fuck are you even here for? Your prince is doing all the work.”

The short guard only shivered and ignored him. Alfred rolled his eyes.

“Admittedly,” said Ivan, “they're here less to protect me from you, and more to guard against other, non-you threats. As well as to open doors,” he added as the guard Alfred had knocked out earlier did exactly that to allow them access to the stairwell.

For once, Ivan had said something that made Alfred smirk in amusement.

“But,” continued Ivan, “as I'm sure you're more eager to learn, the surgery was not to permanently cripple you, else you would never have escaped at all. Rather, the goal was to implant a highly experimental device, one that we've tested mainly on animals like chimpanzees. After a night of sleep to help you recover, it will be set to increase your sensitivity to pain by up to fifty times, though it can go higher or lower whenever I see fit.”

“So you _are_ gonna torture me!”

“Not without due cause, though I'll explain _that_ in much more detail once you're back in your cage,” purred Ivan. He sounded quite excited to discuss it. “As I was saying, the device works by amplifying or blocking signals from your body to your brain, but it can also be used the other way around, to some extent. You really should thank the chimpanzees that you're still alive right now, you know. Quite a few of them died while we were learning how to stop letting through signals from your brain without stopping other, more vital functions, like your heart.”

So that was why he could still _feel_ his lower body, even if he couldn't actually _use_ it. It sounded right out of the realm of science fiction; a genre he usually enjoyed, but was beginning to resent. Alfred's lips curled inward to bare his teeth as he ran over the implications in his mind. The device was probably rooted deeply in his spine, meaning there wouldn't be any ripping it out. But Ivan had said he had control over it, correct? That meant there had to be a control device. If he could steal the controller, he could still run away. The fact that they were willing to implant such a device meant that they intended to keep him alive for quite a while, yet.

_Deep breaths. Stay calm. You can still do this. You still have your training. That's not something they can take away. Maybe you won't get out today, but you'll get another opportunity._

To Ivan's credit, he walked right up the stairs without a problem, as though he _weren't_ toting around an angry, vengeful rebel weighing in at a little over 165 pounds.

Another guard opened the door as they reached the top floor. The rest of the walk back to Ivan's bedroom was spent in silence. It ordinarily would have bothered Alfred, but for once, he was grateful for the quiet. It allowed him to clear his mind a little, even as the whole upside-down thing had all the blood rushing to his head.

It seemed a much shorter walk than it had been earlier to return to the double doors of Ivan's room, though in fairness, Ivan actually knew where he was going.

Alfred's brow furrowed as the cage door was opened and he was set back down in the dog bed.

“Oh, come on!” he complained as Ivan began stripping him of his weapons and uniform. He blushed furiously as, once again, his genitals were exposed for all the world to see.

It was only after the door was shut and _securely_ locked that Ivan finally reached into his pocket. With a _click,_ his muscles became responsive again, and he eagerly sat up to cover himself and breathe a sigh of relief.  Even if he'd been recaptured, at least he could move again.

“Now that _that's_ taken care of,” said Ivan, turning to the group of guards. Two in particular seemed the most eager to get out the door. “Eduard! Raivis! Please have a seat. I think we need to have a little chat, don't you?”

The short blonde guard, as well as the guard with glasses that Alfred had been impersonating, hesitantly stepped forward.

“I can explain,” began Eduard, but Ivan held up his palm, then gestured towards the seats surrounding a coffee table only a few feet from Alfred's cage.

Though Alfred's main focus was on standing up to stretch his limbs, he watched with great interest as the two guards shuffled towards the chairs like kicked puppies. Only after all three were seated did the conversation resume, though a second pair of soldiers stood at Ivan's back.

“Now,” said Ivan, “Raivis, would you be so kind as to tell me who it was that was responsible for escorting Alfred to his room?”

“U-us,” stammered Raivis. “B-but I _thought_ it was locked, a-and he was unarmed, and-”

Ivan slammed his hand down on the table, startling even Alfred, who hadn't ever seen him react so _forcefully._ Despite it, however, an eerie smile still stayed on his face, creating a somewhat creepy effect.

“Eduard,” said Ivan. “You managed to find a back-up uniform after yours was stolen, do you not?”

“Y-yes,” said Eduard.

“It must have been very nice to walk around so light,” said Ivan. “You know. Without the added weight of your _weapons.”_

He set the weapons that he'd confiscated from Alfred down on the table, one by one, as well as the uniform. Even from his cage, Alfred could see the sweat dripping down his brow. He was in some pretty deep shit, that much was obvious.

“Raivis,” said Ivan. He picked up a handgun, clicked off the safety, and aimed it straight at the man in question, who squeaked with terror. “Do you know what this is?”

“A-a Flock 36 semi-automatic pistol!” said Raivis all too quickly.

“Ding ding! That's right!” said Ivan. “And what do guns _do?”_

“Th-they, well,” said Raivis. “They shoot people.”

“Right again! My, you're very clever today!” chirped Ivan. Alfred found himself more and more disturbed by just how _cheerful_ he managed to sound when he was clearly incredibly angry. It almost would have been less awful if he'd just screamed at them, like Arthur always did when someone fucked up. For as many of them as he'd killed, Alfred couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the two. Not enough to regret trying to escape, but still. “And what did Alfred manage to acquire mere minutes after getting out?”

“A g-gun,” said Raivis.

“Just a gun?”

“A lot of guns,” said Raivis, shuddering heavily. “And knives.”

“Yes, he did!” said Ivan. “So, let's put that tiny little brain of yours to use, shall we? We know that guns shoot people, and that upon escaping, Alfred was able to get a gun. What might Alfred have done?”

“Sh-shoot someone?”

“That's right!” said Ivan. “Following that, we can now conclude that due to your and Eduard's negligence, someone might have been shot and killed. So, if you would kindly explain to me why I shouldn't shoot the both of you right now for treason?”

Raivis immediately began to hyperventilate, so Eduard spoke up, though he seemed no less afraid.

“Because your furniture would be stained with blood, my prince,” he was quick to reply.

Ivan seemed to think on that, then clicked the safety off. Eduard let out the breath he'd been holding, and Raivis' began to calm down.

“Very well,” said Ivan. He turned to the guards behind him. “Have these two taken out back and shot against the wall.”

“No, please!” cried Raivis as one of the other guards grabbed him by the hair.

“The rebel!” Eduard cut in. “Killing us would only satisfy the rebel! It would make him feel as though his escape had meaning!”

Ivan gestured for the guard trying to drag Raivis out of his chair to stop, and Alfred pursed his lips. That Eduard person was a pretty quick thinker, for one who had gone down so easily.

“Alfred,” addressed Ivan, and everyone in the room turned to the naked man sitting in his cage. “What say you to this? Would you be happy to see them die?”

Alfred had no way how his response would impact the outcome one way or another, so he figured he may as well answer honestly. “I can't say I would cry about it.”

Again, Ivan seemed to take a moment to think about that response.

“Very well,” he said. “You may live.”

Eduard visibly relaxed, though Raivis looked like he was on the verge of passing out.

“But,” continued Ivan, “as punishment for your error, I will be stripping you of your ranks until further notice. You will be expected to train with the other guards as usual, but rather than do patrols, you will tend to the very man you let loose. A maid will arrive to move your belongings to the servants' quarters tonight, where you will be filled in on your responsibilities by those who were originally assigned to this task. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to explain to their replacements what the position entails.”

Raivis opened his mouth as though he were about to protest, but Eduard immediately covered it with his hand.

“We humbly acquiesce to your commands, Prince Ivan,” said Eduard.

“Good. Now surrender your weapons and get out of my sight. I want all guards back to their usual duties,” said Ivan. The two of them immediately stood and began removing all of their gear, which the other soldiers began to pick up. They hurried out the door as soon as this was done, followed by all of the other men and women who'd stuck around up until that point, until no one was left but Ivan, Alfred, and a pair of unknown guards at the door.

Alfred whistled.

“Sheesh, man. Remind me not to make you mad,” said Alfred. Oh, wait, he sort of had, hadn't he? Shit.

Ivan all too happily turned his attention to Alfred.

“Oh, you could never make me angry,” he assured him, strolling over to stare longingly into the cage. “How could a person become angry with their pet for doing what instinct dictates? When the lion escapes its cage, do you blame the animal, or the zookeeper?”

Alfred shrank back slightly. “The zookeeper, but you'd still euthanize the lion if it hurt someone.”

“Which I find ridiculous,” said Ivan. “To kill a lion for being a lion is an exercise in futility. However, with that being said, you're a pet I hope to train, and your escape will not go consequence-free.”

Damn. Why even bother with the analogy, then?

Wait a second.

“Who are you calling a pet?” said Alfred.

“You, of course,” said Ivan. He reached into his pocket once more, and pulled what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper. “As signed by the king himself – though, I admit that this is just a printed copy, with the real document being on its way as we speak – 'The traitor known as Alfred Franklin Jones shall henceforth be stripped of human rights and granted to Prince Ivan as property.' Then there's a bunch of legal jargon you probably wouldn't understand, so I'll leave it at that.”

Alfred fumed. So _that_ was his sentence? “You're _enslaving_ me?”

“Don't be silly. Slavery has been illegal for years!” said Ivan. “You're my pet. Weren't you paying attention?”

“That's the same fucking thing!”

“Not in the eyes of the law, and that's all that matters,” said Ivan.

Alfred stood, wrapped the red blanket that had been so graciously moved back to his cage around his waist, and kicked the bars with all his might. They shook slightly, but held firm.

“And then you have the nerve to wonder why there's a rebellion!” he growled.

“I don't wonder at all, actually,” said Ivan. “I _know_ why there's a rebellion. However, unlike you, I recognize that it's not worth the effort. There's no governmental system in the world that will ever be free of corruption and unfairness.”

Alfred's fist slammed against the bars, as his foot had. The door that had swung open so easily before refused to budge.

“You just don't want things to change because you're corrupt, yourself!”

“I resent that remark,” said Ivan. “The people of Wyv are quite happy, and my approval rating is high. There were quite a few protestors showing up to petition for your release, true, but as far as the statistics go, they're a vocal minority.”

“Like I could believe that your approval rating is actually high,” spat Alfred. “You're fudging the numbers!”

“Believe what you will. It won't change a thing,” said Ivan. “Now, if you would, I've left you a surprise under your bed. Don't bother trying to destroy it; it's quite sturdy.”

Alfred snorted his contempt, but curiosity compelled him to turn around and lift the bed. Beneath it was a small device that looked a little like a touchscreen phone, with a power button and volume control on the side, as well as a little 'Home' button at the bottom center.

“What the fuck's this?” he asked, plopping himself back down on the bed, as there wasn't anywhere else to sit.

“That's your Good Boy Module, or GBM, for short,” said Ivan, pulling up the same chair that Raivis had nearly been shot in just a few short minutes earlier and sitting down. When Alfred responded with a blank look, he added, “Turn it on!”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but hit the power button, if only to see what crazy the prince of psychos had cooked up. The screen flickered to life to display a colorful home screen. At the top, there was a number. _'50 GBP,'_ it said. Beneath it, in smaller text on what looked to be an alert screen, blue text said, _'+100 Daily Bonus.'_ On the next line, in red text, _'-50 Fine.'_

“Weird,” murmured Alfred. Beneath the alerts, on the lower half of the screen, there was a large button. _'Catalogue,'_ it said. He pushed it with his thumb, and a new screen popped up with several more buttons.

_'Food'_

_'Clothing'_

_'Accessories'_

_'Furniture'_

_'Toys'_

_'Walks'_

_'Tickets'_

_'Chores'_

“This is insane,” said Alfred.

“Go ahead and try to buy something,” said Ivan.

Alfred took a deep breath, hoping it would help him maintain his sanity, and pushed the _'Clothing'_ button.

A few different options popped up for him to scroll through, most of which were out of his price range, their _'Buy'_ buttons greyed out.

_'White T-Shirt – 1000 GBP'_

_'Blue T-Shirt – 2000 GBP'_

“This is highway robbery!” complained Alfred, desperate to cover himself.

“Try the underwear section,” suggested Ivan.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, then checked off the 'underwear' box at the top of the screen. Sure enough, with a little icon in the corner of the picture indicating that it was on 'sale' for the next 24 hours...

_'Lacy Black Thong – 50 GBP'_

“You sicken me,” said Alfred flatly. With the only other option being to go naked, however, he grudgingly pressed _'Buy.'_

“See? It's not so complicated,” said Ivan. “With your Good Boy Points, you'll be permitted to buy whatever trinkets your little heart desires, so long as they're in the catalogue. I'll even update it whenever I find something new that I approve of!”

“Did you seriously set all of this up _just_ for me?” asked Alfred, feeling incredibly creeped out.

“Well, it's an experimental system meant to reform criminals,” said Ivan, and a fucking _blush_ crossed over his face. “If it's successful, we're hoping to implement a similar program in prisons, albeit with a different catalogue.”

Alfred scowled. “Seems like I'm just one big experiment for you, huh?”

“Don't be so down,” said Ivan. “You should be happy! You get to try out all this new stuff before anyone else does!”

“Oh, yeah. I'm thrilled,” said Alfred sarcastically. “A device to paralyze me at will, and some patronizing point system.”

“Speaking of which, I should probably explain to you the rules of the Good Boy Points System in more detail,” said Ivan.

Alfred leaned back against the wall-side of his cage and crossed one leg over the other.

“First of all, as I'm sure you've figured out,” said Ivan, “you'll get one hundred Good Boy Points each day, just for continuing to exist! Isn't that nice?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Alfred.

“You can also earn Good Boy Points throughout the day for successfully doing as you're told. Tomorrow, you'll be given some chores – and don't you worry about escape attempts, because you'll be properly restrained for them – that you'll be able to earn many more points for!”

Alfred nodded slowly. Restraints or no restraints, he was definitely escaping.

“However,” said Ivan, and his voice took on a more ominous tone, “as you've also surely noticed by now, you can expect fines for mistakes or misbehavior. Since it was a first offense, I've only deducted the standard fifty points for your little escape attempt, but in the future, escape and murder attempts will automatically result in a one hundred percent point deduction, plus one.”

“Plus one?”

“I'm getting to that,” said Ivan. “Now, your first mistake or misdeed in any given day, should you engage in one, will result in you losing fifty Good Boy Points. A second will eliminate one hundred. A third, one hundred fifty.”

“So, what, once I make three mistakes, nothing else will happen?” said Alfred. Had Ivan even thought that through? “That's fucking retarded.”

“Should you receive a fine that would put you at a point deficit, or receive three fines within the same day,” said Ivan, “you'll have to play a little game I like to call, 'The Wheel of Punishment.' ”

That was straight-up cartoon villainy. “The what?”

“The-” Ivan was about to continue, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. “Oh, that must be your underwear. Come in!”

“Already?” said Alfred, shocked. Well, it _had_ been on sale. No doubt Ivan had prepared them in advance anticipating that he would get them.

The door opened, and a maid stepped through with what looked to be a package in hand.

“Delivery for Alfred Jones!” she said cautiously, glancing at Alfred with terrified eyes. “A-am I doing it right, Prince Ivan?”

“You needn't worry yourself anymore,” said Ivan, taking the package. “From tomorrow onwards, the job will be taken over by Raivis and Eduard.”

“Really?” said the maid, appearing relieved. “Oh, thank you, Prince Ivan!”

Ivan smiled. “You're very welcome. Feel free to return to tell your friend that you can both return to your regularly scheduled duties, and be sure to instruct them when they arrive at the servant's quarters later today.”

“Yes, of course!”

She practically jumped for joy as she exited the room, and Alfred was beginning to go from feeling proud of how scared the castle staff were of him to a little bothered. He wasn't _that_ frightening, was he? Especially compared to Ivan!

Ivan, meanwhile, knelt down to open up what looked to be a clear doggy door of sorts at the bottom of Alfred's cage, and slid the package in. Alfred immediately set about tearing the packaging to shreds. Sure enough, a lacy black thong greeted him. He eyed it with disgust, but set about putting it on all the same. At the very least, it seemed to have been tailored with a man in mind, and nothing spilled out the sides.

“This is so fucked up,” he groaned.

“Don't swear,” said Ivan firmly. “That's an order.”

“I'll swear all I fucking want!” spat Alfred.

A silence fell between them as Ivan's smile began to widen, and widen, and widen...

“How many points were you left with after purchasing those?” asked Ivan, reaching into his pocket to pull out a little remote control.

“None, obviously, since your prices are way too hi- oh shit,” said Alfred, his heart practically stopping. He turned his attention to the remote in Ivan's hands. He clicked a button, which resulted in a rather unpleasant-sounding alert noise from the Good Boy Module.

 _'Good Boy Point Deficit!'_ flashed across the screen in bold red text. _'Now spinning the Wheel of Punishment!'_

A toon wheel popped up on the screen and began to spin. All sorts of pictures flashed by Alfred's vision, too quickly and too numerous to count. Just how many different tortures were listed?

It spun, and spun, clicking all the way, until at last it came to a stop over a picture of a hand.

“Well,” said Ivan, peering over his shoulder. “It looks like you've earned yourself a spanking.”

Alfred's eye twitched.

“Are you _fucking kidding me?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't figure out how to get rid of the A/N from chapter one down here. Oh well. Just disregard it. Anyway, please feel free to leave a comment or critique (seriously, don't be afraid to criticize, I promise I won't be mad!); it only takes a minute, but it really means a lot to me. <3 You don't even have to log in! Anon comments are always on.


	4. Deficit Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, the story is officially longer than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is 30,644 words. Huzzah! Thanks for sticking with it, guys. The next chapter is already almost done, so I have padding in case I get sick, or a big essay comes up, or something. Yaaaaaaay!

He glared into the mirror.

“Matthew?” called a soft voice from beyond the door.

Matthew didn't respond.

Slowly, the door creaked open, and Francis' reflection joined his. He placed his hand on Matthew's shoulder.

“They're about to broadcast Alfred's sentence,” said Francis, and although he was clearly trying to be strong, it was obvious that he, too, was barely keeping it together. “Do you want to watch?”

“What difference does it make?” asked Matthew bitterly. “They're going to execute him. Torture him to death, to make an example of him. You know it. _I_ know it. There's nothing we can do about it. Why bother?”

Francis pulled him into a hug. Matthew didn't hug back.

“Sometimes,” he began carefully, “things happen that are beyond our control.”

Matthew shook his head.

“He _promised_ he would follow me,” said Matthew. “He said he would only be a minute. Gilbert would have been fine for a little longer. I should have stayed to help.”

“Matthew, you-”

“I could have saved him,” said Matthew, still staring blankly into his reflection. That _completely. Identical. Face._ “I could have _saved_ him, Francis. For fifteen years in the orphanage, we stayed alive because we were a _team._ While others starved or were beaten to death, we looked out for one another. _We were a team,_ but I _left_ him, and _I could have saved him._ It's _my fault_ he's going to die.”

“You couldn't have known,” said Francis, gently rubbing his back. “Ssssssh, it's not your fault. Alfred...” He took a deep breath. “Alfred wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself.”

“They keep reminding me of it, too, but maybe it's only fair.”

“What?”

“They just _keep reminding me,”_ said Matthew again, his face taking on a slightly unhinged expression. “ 'Alfred? I thought you were captured!' 'Oh, Alfred, you're safe, after all!' But I'm _not Alfred!_ I'm _not,_ I _killed_ him, and they _won't stop!”_

“Oh, Matthew, you didn't kill him,” said Francis, squeezing him tighter. “You didn't kill him, do you hear me? It wasn't your fault!”

His attempt at comfort was appreciated, but not at all soothing. Matthew's eyes narrowed, and his hands balled up into fists. He would always feel at fault, but there was someone who carried even more guilt than he did.

“I want to watch,” he murmured. “I want to look into the eyes of the man responsible for taking my brother from me.”

“Matthew, you don't have to-”

_“I want to watch.”_

Francis slowly pulled away from Matthew, who radiated both rage and despair.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” said Matthew. He stepped around Francis to exit through the door, back out into the shelter's hallway. Francis hurried behind him, all the way back to the tiny storage room that the three of them had taken to using as a bedroom and office in order to plan in peace, without the constant noise that filled most of the other areas.

A tiny television had been plugged in by the corner. On the other side of the room, Arthur appeared to have passed out on a mattress, a bottle of rum looking like it had recently rolled out of his hand. At least they knew where he was; he'd disappeared shortly after learning of Alfred's capture, and it was apparent that he hadn't taken it very well.

Francis walked over to the television and flipped it on. 'Truly Neutral News,' or TNN, was the station of choice.

 _“-received word that the prince has arrived to the throne room.”_ said the tiny, sweet-voiced reporter on the screen. _“Basch Zwingli is reporting live from the scene.”_

 _“Thank you, Sisia,”_ said Basch affectionately, though he quickly resumed his serious face. _“We're reporting to you live from- hey, watch it!”_ he snapped as people continued to butt up against him in a battle for space. _“Ahem! We're reporting to you live from Prince Ivan's throne room, where any moment now, the prince is expected to announce the fate of the prominent rebel known as Alfred Jones. We- ah, he's coming forward! Cameraman, look alive!”_

The camera was quickly pointed up in the direction of the prince.

 _“I'm sure many of you have been made aware of rumors that the rebel known as Alfred Jones has entered my custody,”_ said Ivan. _“This is true.”_

Francis squeezed Matthew's hand, and Matthew did his best to steady his trembling body. He wasn't sure if the shaking was out of sadness or rage.

 _“I know that this carries with it quite a bit of controversy,”_ said Ivan. _“His crimes against this nation are undeniable, supported by video evidence.”_

Matthew pressed himself up against Francis and closed his eyes.

_“Ordinarily, the penalty would, indeed, be death. However, in the infinite mercy and wisdom of the crown, his life has been spared.”_

Both Matthew and Francis immediately jerked back to attention. Outside the door, a great many cheers could be heard. Their eyes were glued to the screen, eager for more details.

_“Instead, Alfred Jones has been stripped of human rights and sentenced to a lifetime of service to the crown as its property. Henceforth, he will be reeducated in my custody.”_

“He's going to be kept alive,” said Matthew, unconvinced that he'd heard that right. “They're going to try to reeducate him! Did you hear that, Francis? They're going to try to reeducate _Alfred!”_ He managed a halfhearted laugh. “We can still rescue him!”

Francis had already hurried to Arthur's side to shake him awake.

“Leave me alone,” groaned Arthur. “My head! God, just let me – _hic!_ \- just let me sleep.”

“Alfred's been spared, you drunken dolt!” said Francis excitedly.

It hardly seemed like movement as Arthur got up. One second he was half asleep, and the next, he was on his feet, eyes wide. One could hardly tell that he was still nursing a hangover.

“He's been _what?”_

“Spared!” said Matthew, hardly able to speak. “Oh my God, he's _alive!”_

“But _why?”_ asked Arthur, and a small part of Matthew wanted to strike him for _daring to question_ why his brother would be allowed to live. Luckily, the rest of him understood that it was an important thing to know.

“They mentioned something about reeducation,” said Francis thoughtfully. “It would indeed be a rather significant blow to morale if they were able to convince the former figurehead of our cause to spout propaganda. Now, lucky for us, I'm confident that Alfred will be able to hold out for some time, but-”

 _“But?”_ demanded Matthew.

“Assuming they have the patience for it,” said Francis carefully, “not even Alfred is unbreakable. I've heard of what Ivan has been willing to do in the past to extract information from prisoners, and technology has only made it easier to- my, but isn't it late, Matthew, you should-”

_“Tell me.”_

“They're going to bring him as close as they can to the edge of death without killing him,” said Arthur before Francis could protest. “We need to get someone on the inside, _now.”_

“Yes, yes, of course, but who?” said Francis. “Who's best-suited to the task?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” said Arthur.

“Kiku Honda,” said the voice.

Matthew rushed over to open the door. Kiku and Alfred had been pretty close; at least, Alfred always seemed to enjoy talking to him. Assuming Kiku felt the same (it was difficult to tell sometimes), it made sense that upon seeing the news, he would be eager to try and join any brewing rescue effort.

Rather than the hopeful, or even just blank look he'd expected, however, Kiku's eyes looked almost dead. More so than usual. He stepped through the door like a lifeless phantom.

“We need to talk,” said Kiku.

“About what?” asked Arthur.

“Before I tell you, I want you to know that I will cooperate with whatever decision you make, regardless of what it means for me,” said Kiku.

“So you're here to volunteer for the rescue mission? I must warn you, we haven't had a chance to formulate a plan,” said Francis.

Kiku shook his head, which surprised Matthew. What else could he have come to say?

“I have a confession to make,” said Kiku. He took a deep, but quiet breath.

“The priest is down the hall in the main room,” said Arthur impatiently.

“I've been spying for the crown.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you _fucking kidding me?”_ said Alfred.

“Not in the least,” said Ivan.

A second toon wheel had popped up and begun to spin, with each slot bearing a number. Alfred had a bad feeling that he knew exactly what it meant. It was a feeling that only grew in prominence when the wheel stopped on '40.'

“Forty swats it is!” said Ivan, glancing down at his own phone. Presumably, the information was shared with his, in case Alfred decided to try hiding the screen. “If you would kindly lay down so you don't fall to the floor when I turn your muscles off, that would be perfect.”

“No!” said Alfred. He backed away, shaking his head vigorously. “I'm not gonna let you _spank_ me, you sick freak!”

“Well, I gave you a chance,” said Ivan.

With the click of a button, Alfred fell like a rag doll. His head slammed against the ground, leaving him dazed, but there was just enough spring in the floor that the impact wasn't quite enough to hurt or crack his head open. Still, it was definitely going to bruise. As the cage door opened, and he was hoisted over Ivan's shoulder, a tiny voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Matthew chewed him out:

 _Didn't I always tell you to pick your battles wisely?_ the little Matthew-voice asked. _Now you're injured for no good reason._

_I can't just LET him touch me! I KNOW he's getting off on this!_

_Well, he's still gonna do it, and by pointlessly fighting back when you can't possibly win, you're only going to come out worse for wear._

The thong just barely covering up his crotch was only a small comfort as he was rolled face-down onto the bed like a doll, though at least Ivan had the decency of arranging his limbs in a somewhat comfortable way, with his arms and legs extended in opposite directions parallel to the pillows. He tried to keep his head up, but his neck was already sore from attempting to do the same thing earlier; instead, he let his cheek fall against the blankets, his chin pressed to his shoulder. Rather than begin immediately as Alfred had expected, however, he approached the nearby dresser and swiped his thumb over the scanner.

On the upside, Alfred supposed, at least that let him know which finger to cut off in order to access things in the event that he successfully killed Ivan.

The drawer opened on its own, without the need to pull on any sort of a handle. Alfred couldn't help but hope that the power went out _just_ so he wouldn't be able to access his clothing. Oh, what a delicious irony that would be! The thought had him smiling so blissfully that he hardly even noticed the handcuffs and chains that Ivan was continuously pulling out of the bedside cabinet like one of those colorful ropes from a magician's hat.

“Here we are!” said Ivan triumphantly. He dropped the chains onto the bed beside Alfred, and they jingled as they fell.

“Are those handcuffs in there?” asked Alfred, eyebrow raised. “I can't exactly move right now.”

“I don't know if you've noticed just yet,” said Ivan, “but you can't feel pain below your neck while the device is active. Discomfort, yes, but not _pain.”_

So Ivan would have to give him full use of his limbs whenever he was tortured. “Seems like a pretty serious design flaw.”

“As I said already, this technology is incredibly new. General touch gets through without a problem, but pain signals are designed to go through the device in such a way that it can't cut off your ability to move without stopping all of the traffic that goes through it,” answered Ivan. “Don't worry! You'll get the upgraded model as soon as it's done. By then, though, who knows? You may not even need it!”

“Like hell I won't need it!” snapped Alfred, only to quickly realize his mistake. “Wait, that didn't come out right!”

“As happy as I am to see you excited to ensure your own continued service by reducing the temptations of disloyalty,” said Ivan, and Alfred stuck his tongue out in disgust, “I can assure you that by the end of your training, you'll never even dream of disobedience.”

“My 'training' ends the second I escape this joint,” said Alfred. The chain at the end of the handcuffs was looped around something underneath the bed, possibly the frame, and secured there. Ivan gave it some experimental tugs, then strolled around to secure his ankles in much the same manner. “Which is soon.”

“Go right ahead and try,” said Ivan, clearly unsurprised by his claim. “I didn't mention this earlier, but from here on out, escape and murder attempts will not only result in instant punishment, but something, oh, how should I put this? _Special.”_

“It only gets me tortured if I fail,” said Alfred, even as his inner Matthew-voice questioned the logic of repeatedly making his intentions to escape known to his captor.

“Yes, well, have fun with that,” said Ivan. The ankle chains, too, he tested with a firm tug. They didn't pull Alfred apart as a stretcher would, but there was very little give; all four of his limbs were pulled taut, leaving little wiggle room. “Oh, by the way, you can feel free to press the little question mark at the top left of your Good Boy Module to see the rules. You might want to do that nightly, since I'll occasionally be adding in revisions. A little alert message will inform you of any changes, so ignorance isn't an excuse.”

“Keep talking, Prince of the Douchebags,” said Alfred. “All I hear is a fat load of shit.”

Ivan sighed as he crawled onto the bed to sit beside Alfred, looming over him like a monster in a horror movie. “Good pets don't swear. Did we not _just_ go over this?”

He clicked the remote. The moment Alfred regained control of his limbs, he immediately began jerking on the chains.

“Well,” he said, punctuating each word with a yank, _“I, guess, I'm, not, a, very, good, pet!”_

Even if he couldn't break the chain itself, all he had to do was break the frame that it was attached to. His whole _room_ couldn't possibly be unbreakable.

“Seeing you squirm like that makes me glad that there's so little in this room that can be broken by human hands,” chirped Ivan.

Of _course._

“I'd like to say it was all for you,” said Ivan. He gently stroked Alfred's round bottom, clearly exposed by the thong. Alfred bristled, enraged and disgusted. “But I'm afraid I've been known to lose control of my temper at times.” He _giggled. Again._ “How lucky! Maybe it's fate.”

“No such thing,” muttered Alfred. He continued to strain against the chains, but it was quickly becoming clear to him that they weren't about to break. Damn it, what would Matthew say?

 _Insanity is trying the same thing again and again and expecting it to work differently,_ said the Inner Matthew Voice.

 _It's not the same thing,_ he thought defensively. _I used more willpower in that last tug!_

“You struggle like a drowning rat,” said Ivan. He didn't sound disappointed. “I could watch you squirm all day! But alas, I have ever so much work to do, cleaning up after that escape of yours. And on my day off, too!”

“I get to see less of you?” said Alfred. “Great!”

“Now, now. You can't stay angry at me forever,” said Ivan. “Just remember, what I do, I do for your own good.”

“That's such a load of- NN!”

Alfred flinched and bit into his lip as the first smack landed. He'd expected it to sting a _little_ , but Ivan was definitely not holding back. He could practically feel the handprint forming. Surely the impact had to be hurting his palm, too!

“Let this pain be your teacher,” said Ivan.

 _SMACK!_ Another blow struck his still-tender flesh. Again, Alfred's body jerked in his restraints, desperate to get away from harmful stimuli. _SMACK!_ His teeth clenched tightly together. Three strikes in, and he could already feel a bruise coming on. _SMACK!_ Since when were princes so freaking strong? _SMACK!_ He'd been shot at least six or seven times in the past. How could something so mild make it feel like his whole backside had been set on fire?

“Are you ready to apologize?” asked Ivan.

“Never!” hissed Alfred through his teeth. Pained through he was, his anger at being held down and swatted like a child who wouldn't stop acting up glowed brighter than the growing heat claiming his rear end.

Five more swats landed in quick succession against his skin, and it took everything he had not to cry out. Alfred wasn't sure what was worse; the blows to his person, or the blows to his dignity. He tried to turn his head so Ivan couldn't see his face, but his cheeks flushed red as he was reminded that, oh yeah, there were a pair of guards at the door watching everything go down. To their credit, they were doing a fantastic job of pretending like it was nothing out of the ordinary, but unless Ivan hired people who were both blind and deaf to stand guard over his room, the fact remained that they were witness to every last bit of his humiliation. He could only pray that they didn't decide to share the details at the barracks once their shift was over.

 _SMACK!_ Another strike of Ivan's large, sturdy palm brought with it another wince. _SMACK!_ As much as it still stung, he was relieved by every blow that landed somewhere new, rather than re-treading old ground. Still, he knew it wouldn't last. With twenty-eight strikes yet to come, he would be sore all over before long. _SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

Alfred buried his face in the mattress, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Each successive strike sent him into toe-curling agony as his injuries intensified. Had someone told him only a day earlier that he would be chained to a bed getting spanked by the prince, he would have laughed and suggested that perhaps they'd been having a little too much to drink. And yet, somehow, there he was, with no escape in sight.

“Look at me, Alfred,” said Ivan.

Alfred made it a point to do no such thing.

_SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!_

“Alfred, _look_ at me,” said Ivan, more firmly.

Slowly, shakily, Alfred lifted his head. He shot Ivan a heated glare, but the effect was diminished by the fact that he was quite plainly struggling to keep it together.

“There's a good pet,” said Ivan. “You're halfway there. I'll give you one last chance to apologize.”

“I will _never_ apologize to you!” roared Alfred.

“As you wish,” said Ivan.

Ten hard swats struck him in rapid succession. He wiggled and squirmed beneath their assault, unable to quell a small whimper before it escaped his mouth.

“Just fucking _stop!”_ demanded Alfred in a tone that sounded much more pleading than he'd initially intended. “Isn't this enough for you?”

“It will be when your punishment has been fully administered,” answered Ivan. “I'm afraid you have ten more to go. Deep breaths, little rebel.”

The sound of the next five slaps practically echoed through the room. Alfred arched his back, but there was nothing he could do, nor any way to cover himself with his hands trapped in the cuffs. He could only cry out as the force of each blow furthered his torment. It felt as though Ivan had donned a glove of needles that stabbed deeper into his abused backside with every successive strike.

 _SLAP!_ There was a strange sensation in the corner of his eyes, and a dampness on his cheeks. But no! There was no way. It couldn't be that he was actually- _SLAP!_ Alfred immediately tried to hide his face, but Ivan only laughed.

“You're so beautiful when you cry,” he said longingly. “Just three more. Deep breaths, pet.”

 _SLAP!_ It hurt.

 _SLAP!_ It really, _really_ hurt! At least it was almost over. Just one more, and Ivan would be done.

_SLAP!_

Alfred hadn't even realized that he'd been holding his breath until he released it. He gasped for air, trying not to yelp as Ivan once again began to gently stroke his tender rear.

“It became such a nice shade of black and blue,” he noted. “Since you refused to apologize, you'll be spending the rest of the day in time out. No ointment will be administered, and tomorrow, you will be tied to a chair to sit on your injuries for the duration of breakfast.”

“Fuck you,” groaned Alfred.

“Make that breakfast and lunch!” said Ivan merrily.

It took Alfred all of his willpower to quiet down, but for once in his life, he managed to shut up instead of pointlessly escalating his problems.

He was met with a brief period of painlessness as his limbs were once again rendered about as useful as pool noodles, and his restraints undone so he could be carried back to his cage. Ivan, asshole that he was, chose to lay him on his back in the bad. With the door locked, his mobility was returned, as was the pain. Alfred cried out and swiftly rolled onto his side, though it continued to burn.

“You can't just keep me locked up here!” he said, still panting as he recovered. “I'll scream at you all night! You won't be able to sleep!”

Ivan continued holding up the remote.

“Enjoy your time-out, Alfred. You may want to review the rules,” said Ivan as clicked yet another button.

Slowly, metal walls descended around the outside of the cage like garage doors, though they left enough space around the bars so as not to break off anything that extended to the outside. Alfred's jaw dropped with disbelief.

_How far has he thought this through? And how long has he been preparing for this?_

“This is insane!” he said as they descended to the halfway point.

“You'll have to speak quickly if you have something important to say, Alfred,” said Ivan. “Those walls are completely soundproof. Don't worry about fumbling around in the dark, though! There's a motion-activated light set to turn on whenever you leave bed. If any medical emergencies arise, 'Check-Up' is in the Walks section. It's free and always available, even at night or during a time-out.”

Oh. Oh, _great._ So he was showing concern! God forbid he _die_ after all of the money that must have been spent on him.

“Fuck you and everything you stand for!” shouted Alfred, but the door was already fully closed by the word 'and,' leaving him in the dark.

Alfred crawled gingerly out of the dog bed, unwilling to sleep just yet. He'd spent the whole day unconscious, and though it couldn't exactly be described as restful, he wanted to make sure that there wasn't anything left that he could exploit to escape. Sure enough, a light in the ceiling that he hadn't noticed earlier flickered on above him.

He took another short walk around the cage, but everything was as it had been earlier. Alfred licked his lips, his thirst even more powerful than before. He needed water, and desperately. As though just to taunt him, a single droplet of water fell from the phallic nozzle.

 _Life over pride,_ said the Inner Matthew Voice. _At least pride can be restored._

 _Yeah, I think as far as pride goes, this might be a mortal wound,_ thought Alfred right on back.

Still, unwilling to die of dehydration, of all things, Alfred reluctantly opened his mouth, though he struggled to decide on how he would approach it. Was it best to just suck on the tip? Or could he imagine it was a little less dick-shaped if he covered that whole bit up with his mouth?

He inspected it a little more closely. Little veins had been sculpted into it all along its length. Taking the whole head in definitely wouldn't help.

Words couldn't hope to describe his discomfort as his lips touched the thing. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and began to suck. _It's just a straw, it's just a straw,_ he tried to assure himself as a thirst-quenching stream of fresh, cool water filled his mouth. At least it didn't have a funny taste to it. Even royals got their water from the same planet as the common folk, he supposed.

Still, he was relieved to finally pull his lips away, sated for the moment. Next, it was time to eat.

He approached the feeding box only reluctantly, and squeezed the trigger-buttons with the middle and index fingers of both hands. Alfred dipped his head down and picked a piece of the kibble-like substance up with his teeth, then slowly chewed it up. It wasn't _bad,_ per say, but it wasn't very good, either. They reminded him of those little brown pieces that always came with marshmallow cereals. Hunger tended to lower ones' standards a fair bit, though, and he put his head down a second time to scoop up a mouthful in his jaws.

Again, and again, he lowered his head to feed, until all that remained were a few stray pieces he couldn't quite reach, and the opening in the back leading to the other side of the bars, though it was far too small for him to fit through. Even if it wasn't, the walls that had descended outside would prevent him from getting out.

Alfred sighed and, forgetting himself for a moment, plopped himself down with his back to the bars. The resulting explosion of pain had him scurrying back to his feet. It looked like he would be sleeping on his side that night.

There wasn't an awful lot to do in that cage, other than eat, sleep, and relieve himself, so with a roll of his eyes, he swiped the Good Boy Module from the ground and flicked it on.

 _'Deficit Paid,'_ the alert screen declared. _'GBP Reset to 0.'_

In other words, his 'punishment' had been carried out. Alfred gently eased himself into the bed to lay on one side. He hadn't had a chance to really go through the catalogue just yet. Maybe there was something in there that could assist him. He pressed the button at the bottom of the screen, then selected _'Food,'_ if only out of curiosity.

The selection that greeted him was far more extensive than he'd imagined. There were checkboxes for all kinds of regional dishes, as well as options for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, appetizers, side dishes, and drinks. Rather than _'Buy'_ buttons, the option was called _'Add to Menu,'_ with a little button to access selected items and confirm them to the side. The prices were significantly cheaper than clothing, if still somewhat expensive. Among all of the fancy-pants options, Alfred was a little relieved to find a hamburger – and with options of Medium-Rare to Well-Done, no less! - but it still cost 50 points. Unless he planned on actually _doing_ all those chores Ivan intended to give him, there would be no burgers in his immediate future.

Not only were the buy options greyed out due to his lack of funds, but they were blocked off with a little red 'X.' _'Not purchasable during Time-Out,'_ it said when he tried to press it with his thumb. Alfred groaned.

He hit the back button, then moved on to take another look through _'Clothing.'_ Sure enough, everything was still insanely overpriced, and some of the options were simply ridiculous. _'French Maid Dress?' 'Sexy Pirate?'_ How could Ivan possibly think that he would actually be interested in buying something so stupid?

Next was the _'Accessories'_ category, which was probably the worst one yet. A barrage of jewelry, ribbons, and animal ears greeted him, and he swiftly backed out.

 _'Furniture,'_ at least, was a _little_ more palatable than the previous two. It appeared to be a selection of furnishings to add to his cage. Most were even pricier than the more expensive clothing, though _'Basic Storage Chest'_ was only 100. Among other things, his options mainly included small chests, small dressers and cabinets, mirrors, upgrades to his current furniture (such as better beds), and decorative items, though a handful of nicer, electronic items were also available for more points than he ever intended to stick around long enough to earn. Among _those,_ the clocks were the cheapest, with a small black-and-white analog to be hung on the bars being a 'mere' twenty thousand points.

 _'Toys'_ was next, and Alfred was unsurprised when there was an entire category dedicated to sex toys like dildos. What _was_ shocking, however, was just how elaborate some of the devices were, including a machine designed to piston in and out without assistance. Not _all_ of the toys were of that nature, though. It was worlds out of his price range, but not only was a small television an option, but so were consoles and video games.

Alfred turned his attention to _'Walks.'_ It appeared to be a list of several locations. The cheapest were inside the castle. _'Hallway Tour,' 'Kitchen Visit,'_ and _'Dungeon Trek,'_ among several others, though he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to take a walk through a dungeon. Outside, his options included several scenic-sounding locations within the courtyard. The priciest options looked to be several locations throughout the surrounding city, though the pictures were as grey as the buy buttons, implying that he wouldn't be able to go right then even if he had the necessary points. Only one walk remained free and available, as Ivan had said it would, and that was the walk to see a doctor. He briefly contemplated selecting it just to piss people off, but with zero points left, he wasn't really in the mood to get his ass beaten again.

 _'Tickets'_ was next, and it was weird, to say the least. Some of them seemed innocuous enough, if somewhat distressing. A _'Laundry Ticket'_ was only ten points, and the description seemed to imply that it was good for as much clothing as he could fit in the basket that they brought by when he bought it. With his only clothing being a single thong, he had a feeling that wouldn't be an issue.

Beneath it was a _'Clothing Repairs Ticket'_ for rips and tears, followed by a _'General Repairs Ticket'_ for furniture and other objects, and a _'Kennel Cleaning Ticket'_ for his cage. _'Custom Tailoring Ticket'_ was almost absurdly expensive, but was apparently good for any kind of custom-made clothing he so desired, provided it was approved by Ivan. _'Bath Ticket'_ would get him an extra bath, implying that on most occasions, he would receive one a day regardless of what he did. Then there were self-care tickets, including manicures, pedicures, and other spa-like amenities, as though Ivan had forgotten that he was a freaking _man._ Still, he would be lying if the various massage tickets didn't sound the least bit tempting after all the shit he'd been through up to that point.

Other tickets were a little more bizarre. For one hundred points, he could purchase a _'Masturbation Permission Ticket,'_ ensuring him one penalty-free orgasm through any means of his choosing. Not that he intended to do so in enemy territory, but was masturbation seriously against the rules? He hadn't checked them yet, but he made a mental note to do so as soon as he was done browsing. Right after that was the _'Wheel of Punishment Re-Spin Ticket,'_ in case he decided that he _really_ didn't want to endure the randomly selected torture he'd been assigned.

Finally, there was the _'Chores'_ section. There were a couple different categories, including _'Cleaning,' 'Cooking,'_ _'Maintenance,'_ and _'Miscellaneous.'_ There was another below them, but it was greyed out and labeled as _'???.'_ Still bored, Alfred pressed _'Cleaning.'_ Every location throughout the castle was listed, but _'Prince Ivan's Bedroom'_ was the only one in color, so he pushed it with his thumb. From there, his options became _'Dusting,' 'Sweeping,' 'Vacuuming,' 'Tidying Up,' 'Bathroom,'_ and _'Windows.'_

Where the prices would ordinarily be listed, a little plus icon sat beside a couple different numbers. Each appeared to be a list of what he stood to earn for completing them. He glanced down at the numbers for dusting.

' _Perfect: +200 GBT_

_Great: +150 GBT_

_Good: +100 GBT_

_Okay: +50 GBT_

_Poor: +10 GBT_

_None: GBT Fine'_

Alfred wrinkled his nose. So he couldn't just half-ass it and expect full pay, then. Mildly disappointed, he hit the _'Home'_ button, then took a look at the rules.

The first few paragraphs were the same exact spiel Ivan had given him earlier, almost word for word, explaining in great detail how points and fines worked. After that, however, was a list of rules.

_'Good pets address their master as “Master” or “Owner.”_

_Good pets take on at least two chores every day, with the exception of weekends, holidays, and sick days._

_Good pets don't abuse the Check-Up walk._

_Good pets don't disobey the direct orders of their masters._

_Good pets don't touch themselves without either express permission, or a Masturbation Ticket._

_Good pets don't use foul language._

_Good pets don't steal or break things that don't belong to them._

_Good pets don't run away._

_Good pets don't attempt to hurt, injure, or kill their master, nor do they attempt to hurt, injure, or kill their master's staff.'_

What a load of bullshit. Alfred set both the GBM and his glasses aside, pulled a blanket over his body, and nestled his head in the pillow. Ivan was kidding himself if he really thought that he could train a human being to be compliant, especially a human being known as Alfred F. Jones.

The light flickered off, leaving him alone in the darkness.

 _What am I going to do?_ he wondered. It was easy to _say_ that he was going to escape, but another thing entirely to actually manage it. Somehow, he had to steal that little remote of Ivan's, preferably in a manner that resulted in his princely demise. Then, he had to get all the way back to Ephenette, or Volaus, assuming they managed to take it over. Earlier, it had seemed pretty simple, but as he curled up for the night, a small crack began to form in his hopeful outlook. The day had been so bizarre that it had hardly felt real, and in the silence, everything that had transpired was beginning to hit home.

 _I'm alone,_ he realized, with some trepidation. He was alone in an unfamiliar place deep behind enemy lines, with nothing even resembling a strategy. He'd been put through the anxiety of awaiting execution, operated on while conscious, and then had his ass beaten black and blue. For as much time as he'd been unconscious, Alfred found himself both physically and emotionally exhausted.

He wished he could talk to Matthew. Matthew would know what to do. He always had.

Alfred closed his eyes. It would be better in the morning. He would be rejuvenated, ready to face the day. All he needed was a little rest.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning!”

Alfred shifted in bed, unwilling to get up. “Five more minutes...”

“None of that, now. You have chores to do, pet.”

Alfred's eyes snapped open.

“It wasn't a dream?” he yawned, disappointed. Still, he was feeling significantly better than he had the night before. He'd just let the stress and the pain get to him, that was all. Escape was still a possibility. It was just a little harder than he'd initially envisioned. Alfred F. Jones didn't have the word 'impossible' in his vocabulary!

He reluctantly turned his attention towards Ivan's blurry figure. It was difficult to make out details without his glasses, but he looked like he was smiling down at him. For reasons beyond comprehension, he'd donned a ridiculous pastel pink scarf around his neck, just as he had the day before. Summer had barely ended, and the castle was kept at a pretty good temperature. How was he cold?

“I'm truly, deeply sorry, but with the weekend at an end, I'm afraid I won't be able to spend time playing with you until later, after the court closes and my paperwork is filed,” said Ivan. “Eduard and Raivis will be here any minute now to give you fresh food and water. Were you able to figure out how chores worked?”

“Whatever,” said Alfred.

“You do understand that you'll be expected to do at least two today, don't you?”

“Whatever.”

“You'll be fined once per missed chore,” pointed out Ivan. “You only have one hundred points right now, so that would put you at a deficit and get you punished.”

Alfred scowled. His ass still felt like it had been lined with hot coals.

“Whatever.”

“I just thought I'd give you fair warning. Chores will open up after breakfast, so in the meantime, you should decide on what you want to do,” suggested Ivan.

With that, he was off. The guards opened the double doors and followed him out, leaving Alfred alone once again. The only difference from the last time being, of course, that the door had actually been locked.

Alfred rolled over onto his knees so as to avoid putting pressure on his rear and took a moment to stretch. Sunlight flooded the room, and he rubbed his still-squinting eyes as he struggled to adjust. He could hear birds chirping outside in the early hours of dawn, just as they had the day before. Once more, he was confronted with an uncomfortably peaceful atmosphere. In the movies, the enemy stronghold would be marked by constant snowstorms, or maybe thunder and lightning. It seemed so surreal for life to just continue on as normal.

Alfred donned his glasses, got to his feet, and shook out his legs, eager to get the blood flowing. Were he back home, his first task of the day would be to go out and get some exercise. He paced back and forth the cage. Jogging was out of the question, as were sit-ups, at least until he recovered a little. Instead, Alfred dropped to the ground and started doing some push-ups. Escape was already going to be difficult, and letting his muscles atrophy from disuse would only make it harder.

He'd gotten to seventy-two when the doors opened up again.

“He's gone! Again!” a terrified, but familiar voice squeaked. Raivis, wasn't it?

“He's not gone, he's just on the floor,” answered Eduard. “See?”

“O-oh.”

Alfred took a break for a moment, returning to his knees. Raivis was carrying an unlabeled bag and a folding stool, while Eduard held a large, nozzle-free bottle of water identical to the one already hooked up to his cage. That would be the fresh food and drink, he presumed.

“Having fun with the promotion, boys?” asked Alfred, unable to conceal the smirk on his face.

Eduard just shot him an irritated look. Raivis, frightened though he appeared, spoke up:

“I can't believe this is happening!” he said to Eduard. “I'd hoped to be assigned to the opposite end of the castle, and now we have to take care of him? He nearly killed us!”

“You mean he nearly killed me,” corrected Eduard. “And, as I recall, you were the one who said that they'd locked the door.”

“I thought it locked automatically!”

“Well, it didn't,” chirped Alfred. “Next time, if you could leave a blueprint of the castle with you before you go, that'd be super helpful.”

“There won't be a next time,” said Eduard firmly, his gaze turning to Raivis, who laughed nervously.

He set the water bottle down on the ground, then handed a remote to Raivis. Alfred's eyes locked onto it immediately. Had Ivan entrusted them with it for the day? Odd, considering they nearly let him get away.

“You know what the prince said,” said Eduard. “Tie him to the chair.”

Alfred pursed his lips. So Ivan hadn't forgotten about that. Damn it.

Raivis pressed the button to deactivate his limbs without so much as a warning, prompting Alfred to flop to the floor face-first.

“Oh! Sorry!” apologized Raivis, only to pause. “Wait, why am I apologizing? You nearly got us killed!”

“Raivis!” scolded Eduard. “If his nose is broken, we'll be flogged!”

“AH! I'm sorry, Eduard, I wasn't thinking!”

Alfred laughed at the display, even as Raivis opened up the cage door and set the stool down beside him. Miraculously, his glasses appeared to have survived the fall intact. He hadn't seen any glasses in the catalogue, so if they broke, he hoped he wouldn't be forced to go without. Some considered it a pretty severe disadvantage for a soldier to be near-sighted, especially a sniper and occasional pilot, but he made it work.

The stool Raivis had unfolded was low to the ground with the legs spread far apart, meaning it would be difficult to tip over even as he squirmed to ease his own pain. Raivis grunted as he hoisted Alfred up to sit on it.

Tempting as it was to try and take a bite out of him, Alfred instead chose to watch Eduard as he opened up the box from the outside and poured in the bag of kibble. Once that was done, he carefully unscrewed the bottle from the nozzle, then set it aside to replace with the new one. None of the mechanics looked particularly helpful, but he noted with some interest that the water bottle required a wrench to remove and attach. If there was some way he could get them to leave it behind, it had the potential to be of use.

Raivis took his time ensuring that the rope binding Alfred to the chair was completely secure, though it might have also just been time-consuming to tie him up while his body flopped about. His ankles were fastened to the legs, and several loops were made around his thighs to ensure that he couldn't get up. His arms, thankfully, had to be left free in order to let him access the feed box and GBM, which Raivis moved closer to him to ensure it was within reach.

“His nose isn't broken,” said Raivis, sounding relieved. “At least, I don't think it is.”

“Good. Remember not to let him move again until you're out of the cage,” said Eduard before Raivis pressed the button.

“Oh! Right,” said Raivis. He hurriedly exited the cage and shut the door behind him, taking extra care to hit the little button button out of reach from the inside that locked it. Even then, he gave it several experimental tugs before switching Alfred's arms and legs back on.

Alfred had intended to say something snarky, but what came out instead was a strangled cry as his sense of pain instantly returned to him. He strained against the ropes, squirming and twisting to get out, but they held firm, leaving his injuries to be constantly pushed on by his own weight. The stool was low, but not quite low enough for him to push down on the ground with his hands, either.

“F- _fuck!”_ he groaned. Hadn't the process of _getting_ those bruises been bad enough?

“Ah! He swore!” said Raivis, startled. “We have to fine him now, don't we?”

“Don't you _dare!”_ said Alfred through fervent breaths, but Raivis had already clicked a button. Alfred angrily picked up the GBM and, sure enough, right below the _+100 GBP Daily Bonus_ was _-50 GBP Fine._ “Son of a _bi-beach!”_ He was _not_ going to spin the Wheel of Punishment _that_ early in the morning over _swear words._

“Well, now that that's taken care of, we may as well eat,” said Eduard, taking a seat at the coffee table he'd nearly been executed at the other day. Unlike Raivis, he didn't seem fazed by his near-death experience. It was almost like he was used to such things by that point. He set down the messenger-style back he'd been carrying on the coffee table and reached inside to pull out two lidded containers. “Come on, Raivis.”

“Coming,” said Raivis, doing just that. “Couldn't we sit a little further away, though?”

“We have to supervise to make sure he doesn't flip the stool,” said Eduard. He handed one of the containers to Raivis, who opened it up to reveal bread and some sort of cheese covered in spots. His own contained some sort of black slices of _something_ with little white chunks inside.

“Don't you guys have better things to do?” snapped Alfred irritably. It felt like he was sitting on top of a campfire!

“Not really, since we were demoted,” said Eduard honestly enough. “Our job now is to keep you fed, as well as to supervise you whenever you're outside of your, err, kennel.”

“At least our pay wasn't cut,” said Raivis. “But sleeping in the servants' quarters is embarrassing.”

“At least you're not sleeping in a cage,” Alfred pointed out dryly. He reached down to open the box and leaned down to take a mouthful of kibble. It looked like it would be provided at every meal, with all other foods just acting as alternatives he could spend points on for the sake of flavor.

“No, at least we're not sleeping in a cage,” agreed Eduard. “But you should really look on the bright side, Alfred; at least you're not dead.”

Alfred snorted, then swallowed the kibble in his mouth. It was dry, but he was reluctant to drink water in front of other people. “Is that your little mantra to get through the day?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” answered Eduard, adjusting his glasses.

“That's too depressing, Eduard,” said Raivis, looking a little disturbed.

“It is what it is.”

The next few minutes passed in silence as Alfred alternated between eating and writhing in his bonds.

“Hey,” said Raivis out of nowhere. “Why did you become a rebel, Alfred? You could have done really well in the army.”

“Raivis!” said Eduard, clearly not thinking anything good could come of such a question.

“What?” said Raivis. “If the rumors are all true, he could have been promoted to guarding the king in the capital really quickly!”

“Because,” said Alfred, more than happy to provide an explanation, “I don't believe in profiting off of the backs of starving civilians whose only crime was not being born into the right social class.”

“You could have tried to change things from the inside!” argued Raivis. “Do you know how many people have _died_ because of the rebellion?”

“Do _you_ know how many people died _before_ the rebellion?”

“That's enough, both of you!” Eduard interrupted. “This discussion is pointless. Neither of you is going to change the other's mind!”

Alfred huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Raivis turned his gaze back to the table.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, save for the sounds of Alfred's displeased moans. He wasn't quite hungry enough to empty the feed box, but he consumed enough to sate himself. Whenever he was sure that Eduard and Raivis weren't looking, he leaned over to steal a quick sip of water. If they noticed, they didn't say anything.

As his arms and legs were shut down so Raivis could untie him, Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. If only he hadn't insisted on that last 'fuck you' before Ivan had put him away for the night. He didn't look forward to going through it again at lunch.

“So,” said Eduard, briefly locking the door and restoring function to Alfred's body in order to let him scroll through the GBM. “Have you decided on a chore yet?”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but began looking through the catalogue nonetheless. At least a chore meant getting out of his cage, right? And with only fifty points left, another fine wouldn't end well.

“Which of these is the easiest?” he wondered out loud.

“Probably dusting,” said Raivis. “But I think cooking is more fun.”

“You have to pick two,” Eduard reminded him, leaning back in the seat. He pulled a book from his bag. “Take your time.”

Alfred scrolled through at a leisurely pace. He wasn't fond of Raivis' attitude, but his suggestions seemed fair enough. It wasn't like he had to put his all into it; as long as it was enough to qualify as some work having been done, he would get at least a handful of points, and avoid the fine for doing nothing. With that in mind, his first selection was dusting Ivan's bedroom, as it was the only room available to him.

 _'The earliest opening for this chore is: Now,'_ said the GBM, though it provided several other time slots. Alfred figured it was best to get it over with.

His next choice was, as Raivis had suggested, cooking. He didn't find it particularly fun, but maybe he would get the chance to poison someone. At the very least, he would be able to leave the room. Unfortunately for his contamination plans, the only option it gave him when it asked him who he wanted to cook for was _'Prisoners.'_

The earliest slot for that was around ten thirty, presumably cooking for lunch. He picked that, too.

An alert noise sounded on both Eduard and Raivis' phones as he confirmed the selections. So they were linked up to it, too? Who else was in on the whole, crazy scheme? Hopefully not the entire castle's staff. _That_ would be embarrassing.

“Wait a second,” said Alfred, suddenly remembering something important. “Am I gonna have to do this stuff wearing nothing but this thong?”

Eduard made it a point not to make eye contact. “Well, no, the prince was very clear that, err, professional standards have to be maintained, making a uniform necessary for all work...”

Alfred nodded. _That_ was a relief. If he was going to the kitchen later, the last thing he wanted was to have to cook in nothing but a thong. He _really_ should have asked that earlier, though.

“I don't know,” said Raivis as Eduard reached into his bag. “Does that really qualify as professional?”

“It's not our job to say,” answered Eduard, but the look on his face made it clear that his real answer was, 'No.'

“What? What's the uniform?” asked Alfred, quickly becoming concerned again. That bastard of a prince _wouldn't..._

Eduard pulled a maid dress out of his bag.

Alfred groaned.

“That sleazy bas- bassoon!” he swiftly corrected before Raivis could fine him again. “How is that professional?”

“Well, it _is_ one of the two uniform options available to all staff,” said Eduard, obviously struggling to keep a straight face. “All uniforms are technically gender-neutral, and handed out based on the preferences of the wearer.”

“Well, _I_ don't want to wear a dress! What about _my_ preferences?” demanded Alfred.

“You're the prince's property now,” Raivis reminded him uneasily. “You don't, umm, you don't get a choice.”

“I can't walk around looking like that!” cried Alfred, horrified. “Why didn't you tell me earlier? I never would have taken anything requiring me to leave the room!”

“Well, you see-” began Eduard, but Raivis interrupted.

“Because Prince Ivan said we would be flogged if you didn't take something that got you out of this room today.”

“You _tricked_ me!” realized Alfred.

“It was more like strategically withheld information,” said Eduard.

 _“That still counts as tricking someone!”_ fumed Alfred.

“Well, anyway, we'd better get him ready,” said Eduard. “Raivis, keep him still.”

Raivis clicked the button without warning once again. Alfred fell flat on his back, sending the GBM tumbling to the side.

“Don't you _dare_ put that thing on me! I'm warning you!”

In the end, his threats changed nothing. Raivis and Eduard worked together to squeeze him into the dress, which was suspiciously well-tailored to fit him. Alfred had no idea when they'd taken his measurements, but he couldn't imagine any other way that it could wrap itself around his body so perfectly. Even the chest, which would ordinarily poof out a little to suit a woman's bust, was flat against his own, and the sides didn't curve as they might to suit feminine hips.

He hated not being able to struggle against the black stockings being rolled up his legs. Worse than those, however, were the bizarre metal high heels Raivis had locked into place around his feet. Running in them would have been hard enough as it was, given that he'd never worn heels before, but they were also chained together in such a way that it was impossible to take even slightly larger steps than ordinary.

“The shoes can detect when you're walking,” warned Eduard as Raivis hurried down the hall to retrieve dusting supplies. “If you step too quickly for too long, they'll heat up and burn your feet. They'll also heat up if you try to squeeze your foot out of them without the key, so that's not a good idea, either.”

After that came a pair of long white gloves, followed by metal handcuffs. The chain was slightly longer than the one holding his ankles together, but still only about a foot. Once those were on, Eduard even sat Alfred up to brush his hair, though – like many before him – he failed to tame his cowlick. Raivis returned with a bottle full of citrus-scented dust spray and a black feather duster, which he set beside Alfred before hastily backing away.

All told, Alfred was not a happy camper. Not only were all of Ivan's little devices making escape _very_ difficult, but he was wearing a lacy black and white dress that he would have to work in in front of an entire kitchen's worth of staff. About the only upside was that he had some pretty decent pockets to stow the GBM inside.

“Well, time to start working,” Eduard said warily. He and Raivis exchanged glances. Neither of them looked particularly eager to return movement to Alfred's limbs without the cage door being locked. It was flattering, but unwarranted concern. Unless he could figure out a way to get out of those stupid shoes, he didn't stand a chance in hell of getting away, especially with that stupid remote.

No, as much as he wanted to get away as soon as possible, that tiny little Inner Matthew Voice was very adamant about waiting for an opportunity in which he would actually stand a chance. It pained him to admit it, but there was no way that he would be getting out within the day, or even the next week, short of a miracle. He still had to learn the layout of the castle, memorize some schedules, and, if at _all_ possible, make friends with people in positions to assist him. For the time being, that meant playing along with Ivan's little game.

Alfred jerked upwards as soon as he could move again. Both Raivis and Eduard stepped back, startled, but truth be told, it was mainly because they'd left him in a seated position putting all weight on his injured posterior. At the very least, the dress covered the bruising, so maybe it wouldn't be quite so obvious that he'd had his ass beaten.

He leaned down to pick up the cleaning supplies. Not only were the shoes and handcuffs restrictive, they were weighted. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't do the job he had to do, but they were still heavy enough that he sort of regretted doing push-ups earlier.

“Oh, look at the time!” said Eduard, checking his watch. “I'm scheduled to go train right now. Good luck, Raivis!”

“Wait, no!” cried Raivis as Eduard hurried out the door. “Don't leave me alone with him! Eduard!”

“Look,” said Alfred. “Raivis, is it? _Neither_ of us wants to piss off Ivan right now. You don't want to be flogged, and I don't want whatever other awful things he's got in store for me. At least for now, let's call a truce.”

Raivis appeared doubtful, but nodded.

“Good!” said Alfred. “Anyway, I guess I've gotta clean.”

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Don't be afraid to leave some constructive criticism down in the comments section! I hope to see you back again next week! As usual, please disregard the fact that the lower A/N from chapter one keeps showing up.
> 
> Edit: Never mind about the A/N from chapter one! It's all fixed thanks to The_OTP_Fangirl! Thank you so much! :'D


	5. The Rude Chef

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one filled up twenty pages in the doc, but I think it's just 'cause it's dialogue-heavy, rather than being that much longer. Who knows? Bit of a warning in advance, next week's chapter might be a little shorter than usual. I've got two papers to write, an assignment to finish, homework to catch up on, and a test on Thursday, so it's a bit of a full week for me. Usually the next chapter is almost done by now, but I'm falling a little behind. I'll try to make sure it's at least decently-sized, of course, but, well, we'll see what happens. The chapter WILL come out, though, even if it's a little less than usual.

Alfred had never particularly cared for cleaning, but cleaning for the _enemy_ was a whole new level of awful.

It wasn't that it was difficult, really. His biggest issue was just that it was so mind-numbingly tedious. First he had to move things out of the way. Then he had to spray it down. Then he had to dust it off and move everything back. A normal bedroom would only have taken maybe ten minutes at most, depending on the level of clutter, but there was just _so much_ to do! Electronics, shelves, bedside cabinets, the bed frame, the coffee table, lights... The central, solar-system-themed ceiling light even required a stepladder. Whose idea had it been to make him climb a stepladder in high heels that were chained together? He'd nearly fallen off!

Even so, there was a certain catharsis in the task. It required just enough mental involvement that he couldn't really put his mind elsewhere, forcing him to take a break from mulling over his unfortunate situation. It was boring, true, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing things go from dusty to clean again. More importantly, it kept him out of that stupid cage. Before he knew it, he was unconsciously looking for ways to keep it going even longer.

“Alfred,” said Raivis, “I think you're done.”

“Hold on, I still have to get the baseboards,” said Alfred in a significantly less grumpy tone than when he'd first started.

Eventually, though, after he'd checked and double-checked the whole room, there wasn't a whole lot else to be done. In any case, he'd gotten better at walking in the heels, which had sent him tumbling over at least seven times. It was hard to believe that so many people wore them regularly. They weren't particularly comfortable, and it wasn't like he really needed the extra couple of inches of height.

“Alfred, I really think you're done now,” said Raivis. He pulled out his phone. “Look, I'll even give you a score of perfect for the job, okay?”

Alfred glanced at the clock. It was still only eight. His next job wouldn't start for another two hours, and he _really_ didn't want to go back inside the cage.

“Hang on,” said Alfred. He set the duster aside, hurried to the cage, then crouched down – he kept forgetting that just bending over in a dress exposed his underwear – to retrieve the GBM. He still didn't want to be seen working in such an outfit, but the cage was so _tiny!_

_250 GBP_

_+100 Daily Bonus_

_-50 Fine_

_+200 Perfect Chore_

He checked the _'Chores'_ section. The other rooms were still closed, but he could still sweep. Alfred added that to the chore schedule for eight.

“Okay, then,” said Raivis, who'd gotten the alert on his phone. “I still have to lock you back up while I put those away to get the broom, though.”

At least it would only be brief. Alfred stepped inside the cage and managed a tiny smile. “That's fine.”

Once again, Raivis was incredibly careful about making sure the door was locked before he left. Alfred frowned. It would be difficult to trick him into forgetting again.

While his tiny supervisor was gone, and the room was empty, Alfred took the time to relieve himself, wash his hands, and chug down as much water as he could, uncomfortable as it still was. He checked the GBM, and thought about how many points he'd accumulated. If he did another perfect job sweeping, he would already be up to 450. And if he did a perfect job cooking, that was 300 more points. Assuming he could keep it up into the afternoon, he wondered if he could afford a pair of pants by the day's end.

Alfred paused. Was he really going to spend the day working for his enemy for a pair of pants?

_It's only cleaning and cooking,_ he concluded. _It's not like I'm going to war for him, or anything. Honestly, he's probably spending more money on all this craziness than he's saving on labor._

Alfred took another look at his cage. Even without the attachments, it had to have cost quite a bit of gold to get custom-made, and that was before one took into account the price of the metal shoes. How did Ivan even justify that to himself?

“Alfred?” called Raivis. He looked relieved to see Alfred still in his cage. He carried a broom in one hand, and a dustpan in the other. “Hang on, I'll unlock the door in a second.”

Sweeping took another half an hour for two hundred points, followed by about ten minutes each of vacuuming the rugs and general tidying up (such as making the bed) fifty points each, netting him 550 points in total. For the most part, Raivis stayed patiently off to the side, and they exchanged only minimal dialogue. A handful of times, Alfred wondered if he could snatch the remote from him before he had time to react, but every time he got anywhere close to grabbing distance, Raivis was quick to ready his thumb over the button.

“Why so thorough?” asked Raivis, sounding curious. “Do you really want the points that badly?”

“It's something to do,” said Alfred honestly as he scrolled through the GBM for more chores. He _could_ spend a few points on the 'walk' to the gym for a bit of exercise, but he had a feeling that he would have to pay a penalty if he showed up to the kitchen dripping with sweat, and he wasn't about to pay for a shower for the _'privilege'_ of getting to work more.

Raivis glanced at the cage.  "I guess that's fair."

Alfred continued to scroll. He still had a little over an hour to kill. The windows were still greyed out as an option, presumably because it meant going outside to the balcony in order to do them, so instead, he decided to choose the bathroom. He _was_ kind of curious about what it looked like inside.

Raivis locked him securely back in his cage to bring back the vacuum, then returned shortly thereafter carrying a basket full of various supplies. Sprays, paper towels, scrubbing devices, and a toilet brush all filled the container.

“How are you gonna get in?” asked Alfred. “There's a fingerprint scanner.”

“Eduard and I have been cleared to access the restroom,” answered Raivis.

“Oh, so I could cut off your thumb, too?”

_“What?”_ squeaked Raivis, stepping away from the door.

“I'm kidding,” said Alfred quickly. Too quickly. As soon as the door was open, Raivis backed all the way to the bathroom door, refusing to avert his gaze even as he opened it.

Alfred shrugged and pushed his way through the unlocked door. Why were all the guards such wimps? One would think that dealing with someone like Ivan would toughen them up. Why a person like Raivis even chose to get a job as a soldier was beyond him.

The bathroom was even more luxurious than the ones back in Ephenette, though that wasn't much of a surprise. Of _course_ a royal would have a massive whirlpool bathtub large enough to qualify as a small pool, and of _course_ the shower beside it came complete with ample shelf space built into the wall, on top of a removable shower head. Everything was colored in girly pastels, including the toilet, and it was enough to make Alfred want to vomit.

He poked his head into the spacious shower. Well, it would have been spacious, but someone appeared to have put a device inside of it that looked strangely like a gynecology chair with armrests. Armrests with restraints. Alfred had a very bad feeling about who _that_ was intended for. Unfortunately, it was all he could do to hope that it was just a tool for punishments that he wouldn't have to see ever again, provided he could stay on Ivan's good side until his escape.

All told, the entire process of cleaning the room took about an hour. The mirrors had to be wiped down, the counters and sink had to be washed off, the floors had to be scrubbed, and the toilet had to be cleaned off. The whirlpool bathtub probably took the most time, and the dress and chains certainly didn't help matters; by the time he was through, several patches of fabric had been dampened, if not soaked.

“You're pretty fast,” said Raivis out of nowhere. “I mean, I didn't really take you for the domestic type.”

“When the lady running the orphanage blows the whole budget on drugs and alcohol, and no one comes around to inspect, you take whatever jobs you can get,” said Alfred. Some of them less savory than others. Matthew had usually been able to secure himself some marginally better jobs, of course, thanks to his brains and polite demeanor towards strangers. On several occasions, Alfred had poked fun of him for being such an ass-kisser, but truth be told, they never would have made it, otherwise.

“Couldn't you petition the court?”

Alfred laughed. “Me? A filthy peasant? Even if I could have afforded the trip, do you really think they'd have let me in? Assuming I could somehow find the money for a suit, I didn't have any sort of a noble house stamped on my ID. Not a single drop of upper-class blood in my body.”

“Oh,” said Raivis. “That's odd. We're not allowed to check IDs at the security checkpoint here, and there's no dress code.”

“Well, maybe that sort of thing should be standardized, shouldn't it?” said Alfred. He set the cleaning supplies aside and squeezed the water from his so-called 'uniform.' “Anyway, gimme a rating.”

“It looks perfect to me,” said Raivis. He clicked a button, and Alfred pulled out the GBM.

“Okay, nine hundred fifty points! Pants, here I come!” he said, eagerly heading to the catalogue. “Let's see...”

_'Dark Blue Denim Jeans – 6000 GBP'_

“You've gotta be _fucking kidding me!”_ cried Alfred. “All I can afford are _tiny skirts!”_

Raivis stared at him with wide eyes, and Alfred gave him a dangerous look.

“Don't you dare press that button.”

“I have to!” said Raivis, backing away. “There's a microphone on my uniform!”

“Raivis, I _swear to God-”_ began Alfred, but it was too late. Raivis pressed the button, and Alfred checked the alert screen.

' _850 GBP'_

_'-100 Fine'_

“Come oooooon, I'm a grown man!” complained Alfred.

“I don't make the rules!” insisted Raivis.

“I thought you were afraid of me!”

“I am!” said Raivis, sounding completely unashamed. “I'm just more afraid of the prince!”

Alfred groaned and headbutted the wall. One more fine, and who knew what would happen to him? Ivan clearly had no compunctions about hurting him. What else did he have up his sleeve?

“Ch-cheer up, Alfred,” said Raivis 'encouragingly.' “The only thing you have left is cooking!”

Alfred groaned louder. “I have to walk around in this _stupid dress!”_

“Well, it's not like anyone is going to be surprised, or anything. I bet they won't even stare!”

That wasn't helpful at all. “How many people are in on this whole thing?”

“Well, by this point, the news that you're the prince's property has probably reached the whole kingdom,” said Raivis, shrinking under Alfred's glare. “B-but to answer what I think you meant, most of the castle staff have been briefed on what to expect and how to deal with you by now, especially since you, uh, got loose. Last night and this morning have been spent drilling it into everybody's heads.”

“Just great,” said Alfred. They exited the restroom just in time to see Eduard entering through the double doors.

“I'll take over from here, Raivis. Go train,” said Eduard.

“Really?” said Raivis, visibly relieved. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!”

“The remote, Raivis, the remote!” said Eduard quickly, before Raivis could dart out the door with it still clutched in his hands.

“Oh, right. Here,” said Raivis. He passed the remote to Eduard. “Well, umm, I guess I'll see you later!”

Eduard nodded, then turned to Alfred, who'd taken to crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Even if Raivis _did_ forget something, Eduard was too quick to remind him of it. It looked like he'd have to figure out a way to get away while Raivis was on duty.

“Let's get moving,” said Eduard. He held open the door. “Prisoners first.”

_“ 'Prisoners first,' ”_ mimicked Alfred childishly. He would have punctuated it with a 'fuck you,' but, well, no swearing. In any case, it was time for the walk of shame. “Let's get this over with.”

He leaned out the door like a deer taking a peek outside the forest in the early hours of the morning. The hall seemed uninhabited, so he gingerly stepped outside, ready to dart back in at any moment.

“You're not going to avoid encountering people,” said Eduard. “There are guards on patrol and servants working all over the castle.”

“Man, why do you have to just totally dash my hopes?” said Alfred.

“Did you expect me to coddle you with lies?” said Eduard right back. “You're a grown man, after all.”

Damn him and his smart mouth. Alfred huffed.

“Which way to the kitchen?”

Eduard directed him down the hall, giving him instructions along the way, but always taking care to keep behind him. Fair enough, but he still seemed a little bit overly cautious, given the whole 'remote that could drop him in an instant' thing.

Alfred stepped into the next hallway only reluctantly, his hands tightly gripping the dress. There were at least twelve servants in there, plus a guard, and all of them immediately looked up in the direction of the clinking chains. It was absolutely humiliating, and he blushed heavily, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He wanted to hurry on through, but he could only step so far, and he could already feel the shoes growing a little warmer when he slightly sped up his pace.

The guard gave him a large berth as they passed, an action that didn't go unnoticed even as he refused to look them in the eyes.

“How did any of you people get positions as castle guards?” said Alfred to Eduard once they'd passed. “I'd have fired all of you ages ago.”

“Believe it or not,” said Eduard, sounding irritated, “most of the guards here are highly competent. You, however, are a killing machine.”

“Woah, woah, woah!” said Alfred. That was taking it a little too far. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Most people carry some level of guilt about taking human lives,” said Eduard, “but you're just as callous as the rumors say. Do you feel nothing for the hundreds of people whose lives you've ended? For their families? Most of us working in the palace had some connection to people you've murdered, and you just go around like you never even think about it.”

“Guilty?” said Alfred. _“I'm_ the one who's supposed to feel guilty? I'm fighting for _justice._ What about my friends who died, huh? Am I supposed to feel worse about enemy casualties than about the people I actually care about?”

“You're supposed to feel _something!”_

“I do what I have to do! That's what it means to be at war!”

“A war your side started.”

“With good reason!” snarled Alfred. “But I guess it suddenly becomes a big deal when it's the cushy upper class dealing with death, huh?”

“I've dealt with more than my fair share,” said Eduard. “And regardless of your complaints about the state of society, civil war is _not_ the way to fix them. All your people are doing is destabilizing the entire kingdom.”

“Am I supposed to feel guilty about that, too? A nation where people suffer through no fault of their own doesn't deserve stability!”

“You're hurting the very people you're trying to help! How many towns have become battlefields?” countered Eduard, though he stopped to gesture to a door. “Down these stairs.”

Alfred shoved the door open. “They were hurting already. This is nothing new, and at least it'll be better for them when the revolution succeeds.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“It will!” said Alfred confidently.

Eduard chose not to reply to that. Alfred didn't mind. It was as he'd said earlier to Raivis; neither one of them would change the other's mind, so it was pointless to continue arguing about it.

That wasn't to say that Alfred wasn't the slightest bit bothered by the notion that people outside of the revolution saw him as a killing machine. As they continued through the castle, he couldn't help but mull on it. How many people _had_ he killed? He could still remember the first time, in one of the earlier clashes, back before the rebels were seen as a threat. It was strange; he couldn't even recall the person's gender or face. After months of training, the leader of his platoon had been reluctant to let him take the first shot from afar out of concern that he would unconsciously miss so as not to take a life. He couldn't remember feeling guilt as he'd aimed down the scope and calculated the ideal direction to shoot based on distance and wind speed. The only emotion that came to mind was the satisfaction of proving his then-leader wrong.

Alfred shook his head. What the hell was he even thinking, all of a sudden? Of course the enemy had families and friends. Of course they had lives outside of the war. So did he. So did everyone. That didn't mean he had to feel bad about doing what he had to do. Right?

_I'm not a killing machine,_ he assured himself. He killed, but he killed in the name of justice. For a _purpose._ For _good._

“Just around the corner and through the double doors,” said Eduard.

Alfred pulled open the door, and Eduard followed. What greeted him was the sound of clacking metal and running water. Several men and women in chef uniforms scrubbed the counters while a brown-haired man with a curl sticking out of his head looked on and barked out orders.

“Move faster, you bastards,” ordered the man that Alfred assumed was the head chef. “You there! Stop shivering!”

“B-but Lovino, th-the rebel-”

“What about the rebel?” asked Lovino, who hadn't seemed to notice Alfred yet. “He's the cleaning crew's problem.”

“B-but the rebel is-” stammered the chef, gesturing in Alfred's direction.

“What, don't tell me you're _afraid_ of him?” laughed Lovino. “You bastards are just a bunch of cow-” He finally turned his gaze towards the door, and stumbled backwards, flailing wildly. “IT'S THE REBEL! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

“Calm yourselves,” said Eduard, waving around the remote. “I have him under control.”

“Ya' know, as long as the the remote doesn't break,” said Alfred cheerfully.

“What the hell is that bastard doing in my kitchen?” demanded Lovino, still pressed up against a wall.

“Alfred is going to help cook for the prisoners in the dungeon today,” said Eduard, earning himself a stream of panicked protests from the chefs.

“Oh, no. Nonononononono!” said Lovino. “Not in here! He's untrained, unqualified, and – most importantly – _a dangerous prisoner of war!”_

“I don't hurt civilians!” protested Alfred.

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to the maid you held hostage, bastard!”

“I wasn't _really_ going to shoot her!” said Alfred. Wait, was it a good idea to call his own bluff, letting them know just how far he was willing to go in case he needed another hostage? Probably not. Oops.

“Sure you weren't!” said Lovino, and Alfred was a little relieved that he hadn't believed him. “I'll believe _that_ load of crap when tomatoes chop themselves!”

“Regardless of what you believe,” said Eduard, “I'm here with the remote. He can't hurt you.”

“Like I'm supposed to feel safe being guarded by the bastard who let him out!”

“Good point!” chirped Alfred.

“Need I remind you, Alfred,” said Eduard, a tight smile on his face, “that if you don't complete this chore, you'll receive your third fine of the day?”

“I changed my mind, it's a terrible point,” said Alfred.

Lovino buried his face in his hands. “Great. Well, the kitchen is over there. Have fun.”

“You're going to have to be a little more specific than that,” said Eduard. “Come now, Lovino. We need your expertise!”

Were it not for the fact that he needed to get the job done, Alfred would have facepalmed. That was exactly the sort of ass-kissing that Matthew had always been good at, and he had never been able to pull off.  He said what he meant and meant what he said.

“Uhg! I guess it can't be helped. Honestly, do I have to do _everything_ for you bastards?” grumbled Lovino. He gestured for the other chefs to scatter. “Go on! Keep going! I've gotta teach a _criminal_ how to cook.”

“I'm not _that_ bad at cooking!” said Alfred. It wasn't like he hadn't had lessons! Arthur had taught him!

“We'll see about that,” said Lovino.

Lovino kept his distance as he led them around to one of the many stoves.

“Okay, then, show me what you've got,” said Lovino. “Put together one complete meal for a prisoner. If I approve of it, you can keep making as many as you can until twelve, and then you're free to go.

Both Alfred and Eduard just stared blankly.

“What, do you need me to hold your hand?” said Lovino. “The cold ingredients are over there in the fridge, and everything is through that door over there!” He pointed in the direction of a sliding glass door.

“What am I making?” said Alfred.

“It doesn't matter! _Prison food!”_ said Lovino. “You know! The sort of stuff they serve you!”

“Kibble?”

“Kibble?” repeated Lovino. “They're feeding you-”

“It's that experimental program, remember?” said Eduard.

“Never mind,” said Lovino. “I don't care. Anyway, since you're clearly not very bright-”

“Hey!” said Alfred.

“-you're going to need something along the lines of three to four ounces of meat, half a cup of vegetables, three quarters of a cup of starch, three quarters of a cup of salad, a bread item, and a beverage. It doesn't have to be exact, but we really don't need any dungeon riots about poor food on top of your continued presence here,” said Lovino. “Just make a complete meal.”

“Uh, can you repeat that?” said Alfred. “I kinda forgot, well, everything.”

Lovino groaned.

 

* * *

 

Approximately twenty minutes later, Alfred presented his cooking. He was feeling pretty good about himself, all things considered.

“God!” said Lovino, recoiling with horror. “What _is_ that?”

Alfred's brow furrowed. “What do you mean? It's fish and fries! Err, well, chips, is what he always said to call 'em, but that's stupid.”

“It looks like a piece of charcoal that's been aborted during the last trimester!” said Lovino.

“What? No! Eddie, back me up, here!” said Alfred.

“While I find the description, err, distasteful,” said Eduard, “I'm not inclined to disagree.”

“What are you guys talking about? I eat this stuff all the time!” said Alfred.

“What the fuck is that drink even supposed to be?” said Lovino.

“Well, you guys didn't have any soda,” said Alfred. “So I boiled some grape juice to make it bubbly, but that wore off once the fire went away.”

“I _wondered_ what you were doing, there,” said Eduard, sounding disappointed, but unsurprised. “You do know how carbonation works, right?”

“Anyway,” continued Alfred as though he hadn't heard a thing. “Then I poured in a bunch of sugar, but it didn't look the right color, so I added some stuff that looked closer to it.  You know, the brownish, reddish black stuff?”

“That was vanilla extract,” said Eduard.

Lovino took the whole tray out of Alfred's hands and dumped it into the nearest garbage can.

“What was that for?” said Alfred, deeply distressed. “I worked hard on that!”

“It's hard for me to _look_ at!” said Lovino, disgusted. “By all rights, I should have _burned_ it!”

“Well, fu- fudge you, too, then!”

“Lovino,” said Eduard, “can you not just show him what to do? It's his first time doing this, and I think we can all see that he has no idea what he's doing.”

While Alfred protested the callous dismissal of his talent, Lovino shook his head and gestured for Eduard to stop right there.

“First?” said Lovino. _“First?_ Are you implying that he's coming _back?”_

“One way or another, you're going to have to teach him,” said Eduard, avoiding the question. “The prince was very adamant about having him learn to cook.”

“I don't give a rat's ass what the prince wants!”

“Finally something we agree on!” said Alfred.

Eduard was visibly straining to keep his cool. “You will when he decides to send you back to you-know-where.”

“As if!” said Lovino. He stuck out his tongue. “I'm not going back to prison. My little brother is _chancellor_ now. Behold the power of connections!”

Alfred's eyes narrowed at the proclamation. “You're a criminal?”

Eduard ignored Alfred in favor of continuing. “Who said anything about prison? I was referring to a transfer. Or do you _want_ to go back to Antonio with your tail between your legs?”

“Is that a threat?” said Lovino darkly.

“It is!” said Eduard, smiling.

“And you think a threat is going to work on me?” said Lovino.

“I do!”

“Well,” said Lovino, “you're absolutely, completely and utterly right. Come on, you damned bastard rebel, let's get cooking.”

“I'm not gonna learn jack shi- shi- shi- _ship_ from a _criminal!”_ protested Alfred.

“You're a fine one to talk!” said Lovino.

“Lovino isn't exactly a hardened criminal, Alfred,” said Eduard. “He was only in the mafia because of his family's connections. Unlike Chancellor Feliciano, he was too terrified to leave.”

“How _dare_ you?” said Lovino. “You could line the pockets of kings with all the money I stole!”

“It was two copper pieces and a box of tomatoes that got him caught,” said Eduard. “He surrendered the moment he heard the police sirens. They weren't even for him; someone was being pulled over for speeding.”

“I also stole the plastic bag that I carried them in!” said Lovino. “I didn't pay the plastic tax, so that's technically theft!”

“Wow,” said Alfred. “You're like one of those ineffectual villains in the first season that turns to good later on just 'cause they suck so hard at being evil.”

“Do you want to cook, or not?” snapped Lovino.

Alfred finally relented. “Yes, please.”

“Good, then shut up and do exactly what I do!”

Lovino gathered several ingredients together, including a machine that Alfred had never seen before. Flour, eggs, olive oil, and water, along with chicken, tomatoes, onions, garlic, oregano, rosemary, salt, pepper, and sugar.

“You're clearly a complete fucking idiot, so we're gonna do something simple and easily mass-produced. Now tell me, are you capable of cracking a fucking egg without rendering it inedible?”

Alfred recoiled. At least everyone else he'd met up until then had been subtle about their general asshole-ish-ness. Lovino didn't seem to have any fucks to give.

“Yeah, obviously,” said Alfred. He would have added an insult, but he wasn't sure that he could keep profanity out of it.

“Good,” said Lovino. He pulled a pen and a pad of paper out of his pocket, then scribbled down some ingredients and passed it to Alfred. “Literally all you need to do is put these four things into a food processor, then move them to the pasta maker.”

“Wait, we're making pasta? What do we need all this for?” asked Alfred. “Don't you just boil it until it gets soft?”

_“We do not use store-bought, dehydrated noodles in this kitchen,”_ said Lovino in a tone that, for a minute, had Alfred convinced that he really _was_ a mafioso. “Now wash your hands and get moving!”

“Ok-ay,” said Alfred, and it was his turn to back off. “Wash my hands, then put ingredients into the blender. Got it.”

Lovino watched him carefully as he cracked open the eggs. The many chefs running about the kitchen appeared to have begun lunch preparations in full swing, because Alfred could already smell all sorts of delicious things being made. Having eaten nothing but human kibble for his past two meals, it had him salivating with anticipation, and his stomach growled unpleasantly. He hoped that he could swipe a little _real_ food on his way out. It amazed him that there were people who could work with food all day long and not go completely insane.

It only took a few minutes to get everything blended together in a way that Lovino approved of. Once that was done, he was instructed to roll it into a ball, wrap it up, and let it sit off to the side.

“Good enough,” said Lovino. “Now it just has to sit for an hour. See? Easy. Do that twenty times, and you'll have enough to feed a hundred people. Call me when you're done so I can show you how to make the sauce. I've got to go do actual, head-chef-y things.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” said Alfred reflexively. He wasn't used to following orders from people he didn't particularly respect. Usually, when he was answering a command in the affirmative, that was the expected response. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't point it out.

And so, under Eduard's watchful gaze, Alfred blended up nineteen more batches, rolled them into balls, and wrapped them up to sit. He couldn't quite understand the purpose of leaving it for an hour – it wasn't as though it would make itself! – but he decided not to question it. Lovino was obviously picky like Francis, as evidenced by how quickly he'd thrown out Alfred's first attempt. He didn't want to get a score of nothing and be fined, so he followed the instructions to the letter.

Lovino gave his dough balls a critical look-over upon his return.

“Terrible. I would never serve anything so half-assed to royalty,” said Lovino. “Lucky for you, these are going to prisoners.”

“I did exactly what you said!” said Alfred.

“You have no passion for your work!” said Lovino. “Pasta has to be treated like a woman, you bastard! Your touch should be tender! Loving! These look like they've just come out of their third abusive relationship!”

“Come on,” whined Alfred. “You're supposed to eat food, not date it!”

“That mentality is why you're such a lousy cook!” said Lovino. “Now, let's start the sauce.”

Alfred noted with some amusement that both Lovino and Eduard watched him like hawks as he was made to chop up tomatoes. Occasionally, Lovino would criticize his sloppy, uneven chunks, but always from afar. In honesty, Alfred was kind of surprised that they even let him handle hot olive oil, let alone a knife. Sure, he was both chained and easily subdued by the remote, but they seemed to have quite a bit of confidence in the technology restraining him. Either it was overconfidence, or the device hooked up to his spine had been tested quite extensively. It sounded like it must have been pretty expensive to create, so Alfred couldn't imagine why Ivan would be willing to pour so much money into it. Surely not just for him! It had to have some other, more practical application. How many other prisoners were really dangerous enough to warrant it, though?

Alfred winced as he cut up the onions, which stung his eyes and made them water. Lovino laughed at him and asked if the big baby rebel wanted his diaper, only to shut up when Alfred tightened his grip on the knife. Those onion chunks and some garlic were then sauteed in the olive oil until they were soft, though he spent the entire time having his technique harshly criticized, particularly when he jerked it so hard that the ingredients went flying into the ceiling, forcing them to start the whole process over. So it continued until, at long, _long_ last, everything had been stirred in, creating a sweet-smelling, if incredibly chunky-looking sauce.

“Now let it simmer for ten minutes,” said Lovino. “In the meantime, get the meat going. Move it!”

The sauce was left to sit and occasionally be stirred while Lovino painstakingly walked Alfred through the process of handling chicken without 'burning it to ash' or poisoning himself with the bacteria on the surface of the raw meat. The pasta machine turned out to be even simpler than he'd imagined, basically just squirting the mixture he'd loaded into it out into bowls of noodle-shaped strands.

“Since when is cooking so exhausting?” said Alfred, completely burned out.

“If you thought _that_ was exhausting, you don't belong in a kitchen,” said Lovino. “We're not done yet! Lucky for you, your teacher was kind enough to start the water boiling while you were remaking the sauce!”

“We're boiling the noodles after all?” asked Alfred, feeling like he'd been verbally smacked in the face. “Why did we go through all that aggravation, then?”

“Idiot! The difference between handmade pasta and pasta that's been left to sit on a shelf for three months is _immeasurable!”_

“Is not!”

_“It is, too!”_

_“Is not!”_

“Ahem,” said Eduard.

“Right,” said Lovino. “Let's just get it in the water.”

Alfred grumbled under his breath, but did as he was told. Waiting for them to finish boiling was probably the worst part, because it left him with nothing to do but stand there and occasionally stir. He couldn't even sit, thanks to _Ivan._

“You know, I'm kind of surprised,” said Eduard to Lovino. “I thought for sure you would have pointed out the fact that he's wearing a dress by now.”

Once again, Alfred's face turned bright red. “Eduard!”

“My brother grew up wearing dresses,” said Lovino. “I'm numb to men dressing like maids by now.”

“The chancellor wore dresses?” said Eduard, sounding surprised.

“Not by choice, though he didn't seem to mind enough to point out the mistake,” said Lovino. “He left to work for Roderich at a pretty early age, and our _esteemed_ steward somehow went years thinking he was a girl. Way I hear it, he was pretty embarrassed when Feliciano's voice broke on karaoke night.”

Alfred couldn't stifle his own laughter. Even Eduard, who always seemed reluctant to poke fun of authority figures, let out a chuckle.

“Anyway,” said Lovino, “we're almost done. Time to plate.”

Plating took significantly longer than Alfred first thought, mainly because Lovino kept yelling at him about his poor technique. If the portion sizes weren't too big, they were uneven, or otherwise sloppily plated. Several times, he was reminded to leave a few trays with a small cup of salad to the side instead of meat, because they couldn't have the vegetarians throwing out their share. Glasses of either milk or water were set to the side.

“And from there, the waitstaff can handle it,” said Lovino. “Congrats, bastard. You're done. Get out of my kitchen.”

“What about my rating?” said Alfred.

“Poor,” said Lovino, and before Alfred could protest, Eduard had already input the response.

“But-”

“No buts!” said Lovino. “A good chef strives for perfection! Be thankful I didn't give you a score of zero!”

Alfred fumed the whole trip back to Ivan's room, endlessly ranting to Eduard about how much of a jerk Lovino was, and how could he possibly accept his assessment, and why did Ivan want him to learn how to cook, and seriously, _who did that jerk think he was_ to judge? For his part, Eduard listened pretty quietly, occasionally interjecting with some vague answer that didn't really answer much of anything at all.

“-picky son of a _biscuit!”_ he concluded as they reached the door.

Eduard silently opened the door, only to jump back in alarm upon seeing Ivan. Standing there. _Waiting._

“I'll take over from here, Eduard!” said Ivan, plucking the remote from Eduard's hand. “You go get lunch with Raivis, okay?”

“Yes, of course, sir,” said Eduard, much to Alfred's distress.

“Wait, what? What did I do wrong?” said Alfred as Ivan took him by the chain of his handcuffs, tugged him inside, and slammed the door shut.

“Oh? Nothing,” said Ivan. “I just want to spend some time with you. Is that so surprising? I didn't get to do very much of it yesterday.” He ruffled Alfred's hair. “You're very cute in chains!”

Initially, Alfred wasn't sure how to properly respond. With cheeks redder than the tomatoes he'd been cutting up earlier, he finally settled on, _“You put me in a dress!_ I had to walk around in public like, like...” He gestured to himself. “THIS!”

“I think you're overreacting,” said Ivan. “It's perfectly tailored to your body, is it not?”

“It's a _dress!”_

“Chancellor Feliciano used to wear dresses all the time.”

“I DON'T CARE ABOUT CHANCELLOR FELICIANO!” said Alfred, raising both fists.

“Well, that's a shame, because you're going to be meeting him in a moment,” said Ivan.

“Wait, what?”

Ivan gestured in the direction of the computer. “Come, Alfred. The royal family and council have been dying to meet you.”

Alfred hesitated. He would be able to talk to the royal family? _And_ the council? Him, a peasant and a criminal? An opportunity like that came around once in a thousand lifetimes.

Still, it wasn't as though there were much good that it would do. The conversation would still be taking place over a great distance, so assassination attempts were out. There would be no convincing them of anything; negotiations had already been attempted in the past. The opportunity to give them a piece of his mind was tempting, but Ivan would probably-

Wait. Was he really going to miss the opportunity to give the royal family what-for because he was afraid of another spanking?

No! No, he was _not!_ He was a fucking hero, and he'd had worse pain than a bruised butt. Ivan had performed spinal surgery on him _conscious,_ for God's sake. The whole point of trying to avoid fines was to avoid unnecessary injuries over small, avoidable things, like swearing. He wasn't going to be a docile little doll and politely roll over for the people responsible for so much suffering!

“You seem quite eager,” said Ivan when Alfred followed him to the computer. “I hope you're not hoping to do anything that would embarrass me.”

“Oh, no, _never,”_ said Alfred sarcastically.

“Well, since you only have one fine left, I'm going to do you a favor,” said Ivan.

He clicked the remote, but caught Alfred in his arms before he fell to the floor, then briefly set him down in the swiveling desk chair. Alfred wiggled his head vigorously from side to side when he revealed a bright red ball gag, making a valiant effort to keep his mouth shut, but Ivan simply pinched his nose until he was forced to open up for air. In the end, the gag had been secured around Alfred's face, and his handcuffs temporarily taken off so his wrists could be moved and secured behind his back, instead. When he finally became capable of movement again, he had no way of reaching the back of the gag to remove it.

“Mmmu ammm ama ih!” said Alfred furiously. “Ih imu!”

“I haven't got a clue what you're saying, but I have a feeling it would have been laced with profanity,” said Ivan. “You should be grateful! Now you won't have to face punishment!”

Alfred stood to get up, but Ivan sat down and grabbed him by the chain of his handcuffs, then pulled him sideways into his lap, being careful to put most of the weight on his thighs, rather than his injured bottom. He pulled him close; too close for comfort. Alfred shuddered as Ivan pressed his nose to his hair and inhaled.

“Mmmoh!” he said, trying to pull away, but Ivan was shockingly strong. He'd never known someone who could actually hold him in place when he didn't want to be held. Even with the advantage of chains, Alfred found himself incredibly bothered by how effortlessly he was kept pinned.

“You're beautiful when you struggle,” said Ivan. He sounded completely smitten. “All the ferocity of an untamed beast! But try to keep still for now. I can't gush over you in front of Natalya. She might send assassins. Do sit up straight! This is your big debut!”

“MMMM!”

Alfred realized all too late that he'd spent more time trying to escape than actually concentrating on things that might have proved beneficial, such as watching Ivan input his password into the computer. He mentally kicked himself for the lapse, but it was too late. A bunch of boxes popped up on the screen, many of them completely black. Three, however, were active, and within them were the faces of the royal family.

“Oh my!” said Yekaterina, who had some of the biggest knockers Alfred had ever seen. Were he not gagged, he might have asked if they had their own gravitational pull, just to piss off Ivan. Alas, he was not so lucky. “V-vanya?”

“We speak formally over conference calls, Princess Yekaterina. You know this,” said an old-ish looking man. The _king._ He seemed so, well, _normal._ Not that he was disappointed, or anything, but he'd sort of expected him to have a more ominous presence over live communication. “So, I presume you have the situation under control, Prince Ivan?”

“Very much so, yes!” said Ivan, brandishing the remote. “He's quite the feisty one!”

Alfred did not appreciate being talked about like an animal, and, once again, he turned bright red when someone finally saw fit to point of the elephant in the room:

“Why is he in a _dress,_ brother?” asked Natalya icily. Alfred froze. She was even more intimidating than Ivan! Even through the screen, he could _see_ the loathing in her eyes. “And completely unsecured?”

“I must admit,” said the king, “I _did_ expect him to be more heavily restrained when you called this meeting together to confirm his capture.”

“In answer to Natalya's question, he's in a dress to build character,” said Ivan. What a load of shit. He was in that dress because Ivan got off on it. “As for restraints, I assure you that appearances are deceiving. Observe.”

He pressed the button, and Alfred was beginning to grow a little disturbed by how quickly he was getting used to suddenly not being able to move. His arms fell limply to either side, though Ivan supported him to keep him from falling off of the chair.

“Why is he in your _lap,_ brother?” was the next question Natalya asked. The other royals appeared wary, and Alfred could feel Ivan shift uncomfortably.

“I only just closed court for lunch, so I didn't have time to get another chair. That, and I'd rather have him where he can be seen and controlled than standing behind me while I'm focused on the cameras,” said Ivan. “Besides, it upsets him. Look at how red he is! Like he's going to explode!”

It wasn't a lie. Alfred _did_ feel about ready to explode, and he viciously chewed at the gag, making displeased noises all the while.

“He's _dangerous,_ Prince Ivan,” said Natalya darkly.

“I, umm,” said Yekaterina. “I'm actually inclined to agree with Natalya on this. Are you sure that that's safe?”

“Ahem,” said the king. “If you had read the medical reports that Prince Ivan has been sending out, you would understand that the rebel is incapable of movement so long as the device in his neck is activated.”

Alfred glanced over at Ivan, who looked mildly annoyed. Odd.

“In any case,” began Yekaterina, but she was swiftly interrupted.

“Why is there a _ball gag_ in his mouth, and not a rag, brother?” demanded Natalya. “Why do you _own_ a ball gag?”

“What? Oh, well, a gag dedicated to the purpose of gagging just works a little better than a rag, that's all,” said Ivan.

“Princess Natalya,” said the king, though even he didn't appear too keen on shutting her down. “It's not your place to pry.”

“It most certainly is!” said Natalya. “The royal bloodline should remain free of _impurities!_ For a prince to be diddling a _rebel –_ and a _man,_ no less! – is simply improper!”

Alfred's eyes widened. Was she really suggesting that Ivan would- no! No, there was no way! Sure, he was clearly a pervert, but he wouldn't _really_ try to...

“I can assure you that there's none of that to be had,” said Ivan. “Alfred is as much a virgin as he ever was!”

“MMMM MMOH MM MMOHEH!” said Alfred. _How the hell_ had Ivan known that he was a- oh, _Kiku._ Right.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Alfred couldn't help but take amusement from the 'I could have gone my whole life without hearing that' faces from Yekaterina and the king. If only he could record that on video to show Matthew!

“I think we should return to the main topic before this matter is further derailed,” said Yekaterina. “Particularly seeing as the royal advisers will be logging in any moment now.”

As if to prove her point, little loading circles began to appear in front of the other boxes.

“Yes, I completely agree,” said the king. “Prince Ivan, what's your assessment of the situation? How long will it be before the rebel is broken?”

“He's quite stubborn,” said Ivan. “I would give it anywhere from six months to a year.”

Alfred was floored. As though he could be broken that easily!

Other faces appeared on the screen, though they didn't announce their presence for fear of interrupting the conversation. Alfred could recognize most of them, such as Marshal Ludwig, but others, not so much.

“We don't _have_ six months to a year,” said Natalya, irritated. “Just put him in the box!”

“Princess Natalya,” said Ivan, a little more firmly. Still, Alfred had to wonder just what kind of a person it was that could make Ivan so apprehensive. “The goal is to reform him, not to make him go completely insane. The box is a tool like any other, and it must be used properly, in small doses.”

“All we have to do is get him to denounce the rebellion. After that, he's useless to us,” argued Natalya.

“Terrified blubbering on his part will only make us look like barbarians. He must speak with regret and conviction, or our efforts are wasted,” said Ivan.

“Mm ommoh ah ammeh aeh!” said Alfred. Their efforts were _already_ wasted. Heroes didn't break! Especially not for, what, a box? Did they think he was afraid of the dark, or something? Well, he _had_ told Kiku of his fear of ghosts. Maybe it had been misunderstood in communication. If a box was their ultimate torture, he was in pretty good shape.

“I agree with Prince Braginsky!” said a voice that sounded more cheerful than anyone had any right to be. He looked a lot like Romano, but younger. Surely _that_ wasn't Chancellor Feliciano? “This sort of a speech has to come from the heart!”

“Nonetheless,” said Ludwig, “something must be done to deal with the rebels in the meantime. Prince Ivan's assault was an excellent start, but we must strike while the iron is hot, as it were.”

“We'll discuss strategies for conquest at tomorrow's meeting, when the rebel isn't present, Marshal,” said the king. “Slim as the chance of escape for him may be, I'm not one to take risks.”

“Ahem,” said Roderich. “With all due respect, your majesty, last month's trip to the casino would appear to contradict that statement.”

“Steward,” said the king in a warning tone.

“My apologies, your majesty. I merely thought it relevant.”

“I believe the point that father was trying to make is that discussing plans in front of someone for whom their success would not be beneficial is creating pointless risk for no potential payoff,” said Yekaterina.

“While I can assure you that he won't escape, I fully understand your trepidation,” said Ivan, adjusting Alfred's position to be seated more comfortably on his lap. “Now, if I may, I've taken the liberty of sending you all the details of his reeducation. Does everyone find them acceptable?”

"It seems needlessly expensive," said Roderich.

“It involves significantly more positive reinforcement than I'm used to seeing out of you,” said a man with long, dark hair tied back into a ponytail. Alfred didn't recognize him.

“Which is precisely why I find it detestable,” said Natalya. “This criminal should have been drawn and quartered shortly after his capture was announced.”

Alfred was disturbed, but not unsurprised. Volaus was, from what he understood, worlds worse than Ephenette in terms of the rigidity of class. The princess was practically a dictator, which was part of the reason that her territory was the next target for the rebels. That, and the fact that it just happened to be along the border of Ephenette. Many of their soldiers had come from Volaus, including Gilbert.

“He's already made rapid progress!” said Ivan. He scooted the chair slightly to the left. “Look at what a great job he did cleaning up this room! I have to say, I'm very impressed.”

Out of sight of the camera, he gently rubbed Alfred's back. Alfred responded by attempting to headbutt him.

“You've already gotten him to clean using this system?” said the king, intrigued. “It sounds like it's working, to me.”

_'I didn't do it for points!'_ Alfred wanted to scream. He continued chewing at the gag with determination. _'There's just nothing else to do!'_

“Yes,” said Ivan, his finger over a button on the remote. “He did an _excellent_ job. I'm very pleased.”

_Click!_

Alfred was unprepared for a sudden wave of satisfaction, like he'd just completed a really hard level in a video game. That was odd. Why did being praised by the enemy feel so good? About the only feeling it should have elicited was anger! A part of it still did, but damn if he didn't feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside in the meantime. Disgusting!

“I don't trust him,” said Natalya. “He's clearly just trying to trick you.”

Much as Alfred hated to admit it, he hadn't even actually thought of that. Even if he had, however, he wasn't sure he was capable of faking it well enough to fool anybody. He wasn't a fantastic liar, especially when it came at the expense of his pride.

“Come now, Natalya, do you really think I would fall for such a thing?” said Ivan. “Besides, he's not that smart. I doubt he even thought of it until you said it just now.”

Alfred gripped the gag harder in his jaws.

“My sources _did_ indicate that he was rather unintelligent, but I'm not aware of the full extent,” said the long-haired ponytail man. “How stupid is he, exactly?”

His jaws clamped down even more.

“Very,” said Ivan. “And stubborn. It's an unfortunate combination.”

_CRACK!_

The gag snapped to pieces in his jaws.

“I AM _NOT-”_ said Alfred.

A piece of plastic fell into his throat, blocking his windpipe. He twisted his neck in a vain attempt to be rid of it, and tried unsuccessfully to cough, but it was firmly lodged.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

“I'm afraid it looks like I'm going to have to end this meeting early,” said Ivan quickly. “Shall we resume after lunch?”

“Best to resume tomorrow,” said the king. “This meeting was only intended to confirm the rebel's capture to begin with. Off to lunch, everyone.”

“Ve, ve! Ludwig, let's get pasta!”

“Formal titles over the line, Chancellor!” scolded Ludwig.

Alfred didn't get to hear much more of the spat, because Ivan quickly turned it off. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's abdomen and began administering sharp, forceful squeezes that would almost certainly bruise.

“Keep calm, Alfred,” said Ivan.

After a few tries, the shard of red plastic finally, _finally_ dislodged, and dropped out of Alfred's mouth to the floor. The moment his airway was free, Alfred took a deep, blissful breath.

“Bad pet,” said Ivan, still squeezing him tightly. Alfred swallowed uneasily. “What's the rule about breaking things that don't belong to you? Was that gag yours?”

“You were all insulting me!” argued Alfred.

“Oh? Is there a little clause in that rule that states that it can be broken because you feel insulted?” asked Ivan. “Tsk, tsk! You know what this means.”

Alfred groaned as Ivan stood up and set him limply back down in the chair. Not _again._

At the very least, Ivan allowed him to move again. He swiftly stood up and pulled out the GBM.

_'Fine cap reached!'_ said the alert screen. _'Now spinning the Wheel of Punishment!'_

The wheel spun, and spun, and spun, until at last it landed on a wedge-shape. Whatever that was, it couldn't be good. The second wheel popped up, and landed on the number 60, which caused Alfred to tense up with unease. That was probably bad.

“How very unfortunate for you,” said Ivan. “It looks like you'll be spending an hour riding the horse.”

“Wait, what?” said Alfred, allowing himself to relax a little. “I'm going horseback riding? That's a torture?”

“Oh, yes!” said Ivan through laughter. “I don't imagine you'll like this horse very much, however.”

Alfred shrugged. So, what, he just had to stay on top of some mean, unruly horse for an hour? That didn't sound so awful. Sure, it would suck thanks to his bruised hindquarters, but at least it might actually be kind of fun. Was Ivan just really bad at coming up with torture, or something?

“Well, we'll take care of that after lunch. I imagine that you're quite hungry,” said Ivan. He beckoned for Alfred to join him at the seats around the coffee table. Initially, Alfred was relieved that he would get to sit on something with a cushion, but Ivan made it a point to remove it from his chair, leaving solid wood. Dick. “Are you going to get anything from the GBM, now that you have the points? Now would be the time to order it.”

Alfred glanced at the cage, then back to the GBM. He _did_ have quite a few more than he'd expected to accumulate by then, at 710. He glared down at the alert screen, where a big, fat _'+10 Poor Chore'_ sat right above a _'-150 Fine.'_ He may as well not have done anything in the kitchen at all. Screw what Ivan wanted, he was never taking the 'cooking' chore again.

_Again? Wait, since when did I start thinking like this is gonna be long-term?_

After a moment of contemplation, Alfred eventually headed to the food section of the catalogue to select a burger and a soda for a total of 100 points. He'd been putting up with a _lot_ of shit lately, and if Ivan was going to give him access to something to make it all a little bit better, he was going to fucking treat himself.

“Good, good. I won't have to scoop out a bowl of kibble for you, then,” said Ivan. “Now, have a seat.”

“Don't s'pose I can just stand and eat?”

“Ahaha, no.”

Alfred begrudgingly sat down on the hard, uncushioned chair. He hissed with pain, but refused to cry out, even when Ivan wrapped a coil of rope around his ankles to bind them to the chair legs.

“If I say sorry now, can I get the cushion back?” asked Alfred, not really expecting a 'yes.'

“No, but you can certainly keep it in mind when I ask for an apology during your punishment after lunch,” said Ivan. “And to think, Raivis told me that two of those fines were for swearing! Hopefully, you'll have learned some self-control by now.”

“Fuck no,” said Alfred.

Ivan clicked a button, and Alfred immediately pulled out the GBM.

_560 GBP,_ it said. He'd been fined another fifty points.

“I can still get fined?” he cried.

“Well, off course. It resets both at midnight, and when you spin the wheel,” said Ivan. “Otherwise you could just do whatever you wanted consequence-free! That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?”

Alfred gripped the armrests tightly, until his knuckles turned white.

“Oh, by all means, break the chair, too. Court has been canceled until further notice, so I have all afternoon to spend doling out all of the punishments you earn!” said Ivan.

“Canceled?” said Alfred. “Why?”

“Well, most of the people at the door are protesters, and letting them all in creates a fire hazard, so for now, we're setting up a webpage to take care of petitions by appointment. I prefer not to do it this way, since not everyone has internet access, but it's the best we can do for now,” said Ivan, shrugging. “And quite frankly, the petitions that _did_ make it through this morning were underwhelming, to say the least. Toris' people have had their hands full trying to keep the lines clear, so some nonsense slipped through the cracks. One of them demanded that we release all known evidence of life on other planets.”

“So you _are_ covering that up!” said Alfred, his eyes wide.

“I wish,” said Ivan. “Believe me when I say that I've voted time and time again to put more national funding into space exploration! Fath- excuse me, the _king_ fails to see the benefit.”

“How can you not see the benefit of freaking space?” asked Alfred, horrified. “Even if you don't find anything, the technological improvements we make trying to get there have tons of other applications!”

“I know, that's what I told them!” said Ivan, sounding regretful. “But Steward Roderich kept prattling on about how expensive it was, and now I'm the only one funding it.  It helps, but I don't have access to the same resources as the capital. Yekaterina has promised to give it more thought when she becomes queen, at least.”

“I've always wanted to meet an alien!” said Alfred. “I think it'd be really cool to hang out with someone from a totally different planet!”

“Think of the technology they could share!” said Ivan. “The psychological studies that could be done on a being of a fundamentally different mind!”

“And all the planets that we could visit! Like-”

Alfred stopped himself. For a moment, he'd almost forgotten that he was talking to the enemy.

“Like what?” prodded Ivan.

“Like nothing!” said Alfred. “You've totally ruined space for me, just like you ruined that game.”

“Game?”

“Don't act like you don't know!” said Alfred. _“Super Planetary Warriors 7!_ Now I can't ever enjoy it again!”

“Oh, that one,” said Ivan. “Do you want to play multiplayer together sometime?”

Alfred just looked at him like he'd sprouted wings. _“No,_ I don't want to play multiplayer together sometime! I don't want to play anything with you!”

Ivan laughed. “You're so funny, Alfred!”

“There's nothing funny about it!” said Alfred. “Where do you get off actually acting like a human being, all of a sudden?”

“You'll find that I'm very capable of acting like a human being, given that I am one,” said Ivan.

"That's hard to believe,” said Alfred. “Human beings actually care about their fellow human beings.”

“There you go again,” sighed Ivan. “Talking as though you've got it all figured out. Do you really think me incapable of compassion?”

“Yes!”

“How cold of you to say,” said Ivan. “I assure you that I care deeply for my subjects. I do the best that I can for them.”

“Don't make me laugh!” said Alfred. “You could be doing more, and you know it! Even if you can't directly control certain areas, there are other options to pressure them into better conditions for the people!”

“Perhaps, but remember that every vassal wishes to hold on to as much power as possible,” said Ivan. “They don't take kindly to pressuring another vassal to do much of anything, even if it would be beneficial.”

“And what about Volaus, then, huh? The princess controls _that_ directly!”

“Ah, yes. My younger sister is very big on security and blood purity,” said Ivan. He seemed to shift uncomfortably at the mere mention of it. “She believes the genetics of the royal family to be inherently superior.”

“So do something about it!” said Alfred. “You _know_ that that isn't true!”

“Of course not,” said Ivan. “But despite her bloodline, she is as much a vassal as any of the others. You'll find that in politics, familial ties mean nothing if they get in the way of power.”

  
“Are you saying your sister is a power-hungry maniac?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Ivan. “I merely implied it.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Please come in,” said Ivan.

A maid entered the room carrying two lidded platters. Two other servants followed; one carried a pair of glasses, and the other carried a soda and a bottle of what looked like water.

“Your lunch, your highness,” said the maid. She set down one of the plates in front of Ivan, and removed the lid to reveal what appeared to be some kind of red soup in a pretty small bowl. Alfred certainly couldn't imagine eating so little for an entire meal. “And lunch for, umm...”

“Alfred,” said Ivan.

“Yes, of course. Lunch for Alfred,” said the maid uneasily. She set the tray down out of Alfred's reach, then carefully pushed it closer, as though she were giving meat to a hungry lion. Once it was close enough, she swiftly removed the lid, then took several steps back, nearly bumping into the other two as she did so.

As the savory smell of a freshly-grilled beef hit his nose, Alfred began to salivate with anticipation. He'd never seen such a perfectly-constructed burger! The pale brown bun was lightly oiled and topped with just the right number of sesame seeds! The vegetables were cut perfectly to size, just enough for that lovely little skirt of lettuce to spill out without sagging and making it difficult to hold! The cheese glistened in the light of the sun! But most importantly, the meat – oh, Lord, the _meat! –_ looked just moist enough for the juices to spill from its tender form with every bite, without being so wet that the lower bun got soggy. Entranced by its majesty, Alfred practically forgot about the terrible pain in his rear end.

The second servant set down glasses full of ice, and the third poured the water and soda into their respective ones.

“Soda and a burger?” said Ivan. “All of the options I made available to you, and you came up with soda and a burger?”

“It's so beautiful,” said Alfred, mesmerized. “Almost too beautiful to eat.”

“Well, that's good,” said Ivan. “It's common courtesy that the one of highest status take the first bite.”

Ivan scooped a spoonful of soup into his mouth, smiling delightedly. Alfred wasn't about to be left to starve. Beautiful as it was, food was meant to be eaten, and he remorselessly lifted the burger and shoved it into his mouth.

Oh, it was _worlds_ better than kibble! Nay, _entire universes_ better! He closed his eyes, content to take a moment to just savor its perfection.

“You seem happy,” said Ivan.

Alfred was too satisfied to answer that. He licked his lips and took his second bite.

“You've already eaten half of it,” said Ivan, stunned.

Alfred took another bite.

“Three quarters,” said Ivan. “Have you no gag reflex?”

“Nope!” said Alfred with his mouth full. He swallowed, then consumed what little remained.

“Oh,” said Ivan. Alfred expected more disgust, but instead, his princely little face looked somewhat intrigued. “That's quite an impressive mouth that you have there.”

“Well, I guess it's nice that somebody notices,” said Alfred. “Even if that somebody is you.”

He grabbed the glass of soda, somewhat disappointed. Who the hell drank soda out of a glass, anyway? Soda was soda, though, and he chugged it down as he always did, reveling in the familiar prickling sensation running down his throat.

It was only after he set the glass down and stretched his arms that he noticed that Ivan's cheeks had gone pink. Weird.

Again, the maid knocked, bearing yet another platter, which she swapped for the one that Ivan already had. Some weird crepe-looking thing, with a small side of caviar. Suddenly, it made sense why the bowl of soup had been so small. It was just multi-course. Rather than bring it all out at once, it was one at a time. Alfred had never understood such things. Why would anyone want the food to arrive _slower?_ He didn't have that sort of patience. In spite of that, seeing that Ivan still had food while he didn't made him a little envious. He greedily licked his fingers and tried not to stare. He already got enough shit back home about his eating habits. The last thing he needed was for his enemy to start in on him.

“Are you still hungry, Alfred?” said Ivan. “Did you want some of mine?”

Alfred perked up a bit. If Ivan was willing to share, and it _wasn't_ drugged... “Yes?”

“I might be persuaded to share,” said Ivan. That wasn't good. What did he want? “But you have to let me feed you.”

“What?”

Ivan held up one of the crepe-taco things, scooted his chair closer to Alfred, and waved it in front of his face.

“Go on. Take a bite,” said Ivan.

Alfred looked at him suspiciously, but ultimately opened his mouth to wrap it around the crepe-taco.

“Ah-ah-ah!” said Ivan before he could sink his teeth into it. “Smaller bites.”

“How am I even supposed to taste it, then?” complained Alfred.

“Spread it around your tongue and enjoy it like a civilized person,” said Ivan. “Not that you're a 'person' anymore, but I'll never be able to take you anywhere if you're not willing to show a little decorum.”

Like he cared about _decorum._ Alfred grabbed the entire thing in his teeth and ripped it out of Ivan's hands, sucking it down like a vacuum. It tasted like it had meat inside, but in his desire to piss off Ivan, he'd ended up swallowing it all before he could really chew.

_Click!_ An alert popped up on the GBM indicating that he'd lost 100 points for a total of 460.

“You're fining me?” said Alfred. “I didn't break any rules!”

“I told you to take smaller bites,” said Ivan. “Good pets don't disobey the direct orders of their masters! Or have you already forgotten?”

Alfred scowled. “And what if you order me to break another rule? What then?”

“Good question! I probably won't, but if I do, you should follow the direct order above all else, because there's almost certainly a good reason for it,” said Ivan as he ate. “I'll update your GBM to reflect that while you're being punished, okay?”

Alfred clenched his fists. He wasn't sure he could endure another _day_ of following Ivan's crazy rules, let alone however long it took him to escape. There was a part of him that hoped a rescue team was being formed, but then, what kind of a hero needed help getting away from the bad guy? It was bad enough that he'd been captured in the first place, but was he really so useless as to require assistance?

The rest of lunch was spent in silence. Alfred did his best not to visibly contort his body to escape the pain of sitting on his bruises while Ivan quietly finished his meal.

“Well, that was nice,” said Ivan, sounding genuinely pleased. “We should eat together again tomorrow.”

“I'd rather choke to death,” said Alfred.

“After seeing how you eat, I'm surprised that you're capable of choking at all,” said Ivan. He stood up to untie Alfred, who was all too eager to stand. “Well, time for your punishment, Alfred. Come along, it's not something that we can carry out in here.”

Alfred snorted at the mental image of a horse in Ivan's bedroom. It was a shame he was going to have to sit on something so shortly after finally being allowed to stand, especially an unruly animal, but at least he would find out where the stable was.

“Can I at least change out of this uniform? It's not like I'm working,” said Alfred.

“Of course, if you don't mind walking around in nothing but a thong!” said Ivan.

“I was sort of hoping you'd give me some pants, actually,” said Alfred. “You'd seriously have someone walking almost naked around your freaking castle?”

“You can feel free to walk around _completely_ naked, if you'd like, provided you're not working and stay towards the back,” said Ivan, clasping his hands together. “There aren't any children staying here, so I don't mind.”

“Like heck I'd do that!” said Alfred. Was it a bad sign that he wasn't even surprised by such statements anymore? He'd only been there for, what, a day and a half?

Alfred followed Ivan out the door, flanked by guards. With Ivan's back turned, he wondered if it would be worth the risk to try jumping up and grabbing the remote. He _had_ almost made it out the last time. Assuming the guards beside him were too cowardly to stop him...

But no, Ivan's finger was sitting right over the button to send him crashing uselessly to the floor. It would only net him pointless injuries. Worse, it could result in Ivan's increased vigilance.

_Gotta be patient,_ he thought. _Gotta wait for the right moment._

A part of him was worried that, in waiting for the perfect moment, he would pass on chances that might have worked. But then, that was the nature of such things. Every attempt was going to be a gamble. With so much on the line, it was only responsible to wait for good odds, right? Besides, even if he got the remote, the guards still had _guns._ He'd had the element of surprise the last time he'd taken so many out unarmed. Right then, however, the guards with them were paying very close attention to him. They _expected_ him to make a move.

When they reached the ground floor, Alfred found himself a little surprised by the fact that, instead of heading outside, they continued to descend.

“Who keeps a horse indoors?” asked Alfred.

One of the guards snorted, only to quickly compose himself when Ivan turned to look at him.

“This is a very special horse, as I'm sure you'll realize momentarily,” said Ivan. “It's kept in the dungeon, with the rest of the torture devices.”

“That's no quality of life for an animal,” said Alfred.

“It wouldn't be, no,” said Ivan.

“Then why keep it there?”

“You'll see!”

The dungeon, as it turned out, was not a particularly pleasant place. It was kept clean, at least, unlike in the days of yore. There weren't any rat infestations to be had, or even any spider webs. Granted, they appeared to be on the administrative side, rather than on the side with all the cells, but those things had a way of spreading if they existed at all. Several guards stood vigilant at the doors, though others seemed to be chattering at tables.

Regardless of their activity, they all turned to stare as Alfred passed. He wished he could hold his head high, but in that freaking dress, it was all he could do not to cover his face.

“Let's see,” said Ivan, opening up a door labeled 'Torture and Interrogation.' It led to what appeared to be a waiting room of sorts. The only difference was that the chairs were all attached to the wall with harness-like devices to keep people from getting up and running off. Though a couple of them were occupied, none of the people in them seemed motivated enough to look up at the new arrivals. “Let's get you checked in, shall we?”

Alfred cringed. It was like a reverse hospital. Ivan approached the front desk while the guards trained their weapons on Alfred.

“Excuse me,” said Ivan.

“Oh!” said the man at the front desk, looking up from his paperwork. “Prince Ivan! You're here with the rebel, aren't you?”

That, at least, seemed to get the attention of the various prisoners, whose heads rose from their flopped-down positions to gawk.

“Is that him?” Alfred heard one whisper.

“Yeah, that's definitely Alfred Jones.”

“So they really _did_ catch him.”

“Damn. How'd they do that?”

“I heard he got tricked.”

“Really? What an idiot...”

“I can _hear_ you, ya' know,” snarled Alfred.

“Shit, he heard us.”

“Forget about that! Why's he wearing a dress?”

“Heh, maybe he likes it. What a freak.”

Alfred gave both of them the middle finger. That didn't count as a swear, right? Even if it did, it was freaking worth it.

“Good news, Alfred!” said Ivan. “There's an unoccupied horse right now, so we don't have to wait.”

“I'm thrilled,” said Alfred, completely deadpan.

“Right this way,” said a woman at the door by the desk. She sounded so cheerful, as though her job _didn't_ involve leading people to various torture chambers.

Alfred was getting more and more disturbed by the relaxed atmosphere among the staff with every passing second, but he had no choice but to follow Ivan and the woman through another door and down a long hallway. He tried to distract himself by reading the labels by the various doors, but they didn't help much, since they were all various types of tortures. _'Boiling,' 'Denailing,' 'Flagellation,' 'Foot Roasting,'_ and _'Mutilation,'_ to name a few.

At last, they came to stop at a door labeled _'Horse 5.'  
_

“Five?” said Alfred out loud. “Are there more?”

“We currently have eight horses,” said the woman, a little too proudly. “We used to have ten, but we've been trying to replace all of the wooden ones with metal, which is much easier to clean.”

“Wood?” said Alfred. “Metal?”

The woman opened the door. What was inside was most certainly _not_ a horse.

“Oh,” said Alfred. A large, metal wedge sat in the center of the room. Chains dangled from the ceiling above it, with cranks along the walls to control their height.

“It's quite impressive, isn't it?” said the woman with a wistful sigh. “It's the newest model! Retractable spikes, heat, electric shocks; it can do it all!”

“Very impressive!” said Ivan cheerfully. “Can you see why we keep it in the dungeon now, Alfred?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Alfred, his eye twitching. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his head as it dawned on him just how much he was going to hate the next hour of his life. “I get it now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist! Haha, well, probably not a plot twist for anybody but Alfred. He's not exactly an expert in matters of torture. Anyway, I appreciate all comments, both kind and critical! That's not to say you should be mean, of course. There's a difference between "You had a few problems with X, Y, and Z," and "OH MY GOD THIS STORY IS THE WORST THING I'VE EVER READ AND YOU SHOULD BE FOREVER ASHAMED TO HAVE TAKEN ANY PART IN IT BECAUSE YOU'RE A STUPID POOPY-HEAD WITH SHIT FOR BRAINS."
> 
> Anyway, see you all next week!


	6. Horseback Riding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly thrilled about the length and quality of this chapter, but I haven't had a whole lot of time to do revisions. I still have to finish some essays by next week, and then midterms are coming up, and I'm sick with a stomach bug... Suffice to say, this and the two chapters after it may be short and reek of poor editing. ^^' I'm gonna try to fix them when I get the chance. For now, though, I have to post this, 'cause once I fall behind on my schedule, the motivation train is gonna leave the station without me. Thank you all for reading. I hope this one is at least palatable.

“At least the handcuffs are comfortable,” said Alfred as his wrists were locked into place above him. The dress had already been folded up and set on a shelf to the side. His shoes, stockings, and underwear, however, were still in the process of being removed. Much as he hated the thong, he hated being naked even more, and did his best to cover himself with his thighs once it was removed. Once Ivan pressed that damned button, however, his whole body went limp yet again, leaving him hanging there.

“I don't understand why you try so hard to cover up,” said Ivan. He slid his hand down Alfred's side. Alfred cringed. “You're very beautiful.”

“I'm a man!” said Alfred.

Oh, the indignity of it all. He chewed his lip as he was hoisted into the air and pulled over the metal horse. His body was lowered to the point where his knees were about level with the top of the device, and one of his legs was swung over the other side. From there, both ankles were fastened to chains on either side that were hooked into the ground, forcing his legs to stay splayed to either side. The sight of his own genitals hovering above the device was enough to have him on edge.

“So, just to clarify, your misbehavior consisted of two uses of foul language, and breaking something that wasn't yours,” said Ivan. He _knew_ that already. What was the point of bringing it up again? “Since it's your first time having your sense of pain amplified by the device, I'll only bring it up to double, okay?”

 _Click!_ Movement to his limbs was restored for the umpteenth time. _Click!_

“Only?” said Alfred. “As if this isn't already bad enough?”

“I'm just trying to make sure that the lesson sinks in, that's all,” said Ivan. “Now, if you've no more complaints, I'm going to lower you and start the timer.”

Ivan turned to begin cranking the wheel, which caused the chains around Alfred's legs to pull him down at the same time that the chains above were giving more slack. As he steadily dropped, more sweat began to accumulate on his forehead.

“C-can't we talk about this?” said Alfred. He was getting dangerously close. “I mean, a few swear words and a plastic gag can't _really_ be worth this aggravation, right?”

“It's the principle of the thing,” said Ivan.

Alfred's testicles brushed up against the point of the wedge. He made a valiant effort to pull himself up and away, but it was no use. Further and further he descended, until the pressure began to build. About the only comfort he had was that his bruises were untouched, as the wedge slipped right between the cheeks of his ass.

“Nnn!” he groaned as the pressure on his balls began to build to genuinely painful levels. “I think this is enough, don't you?”

“I think you're right,” said Ivan. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. “Any more, and the spikes might do some serious damage.”

“Wh-what? No!” said Alfred, vigorously shaking his head. His lower lip trembled as Ivan's finger hovered over a switch on the wooden horse. “C-come on! That isn't really necessaAAH!”

He screamed as, with the suddenness of a Jack-in-the-Box, tiny spikes sprung up out of the top of the metal horse and stabbed his most vulnerable regions. His legs trembled with complete and utter agony, and he rocked back in forth in a vain effort to find relief. Moans of pain filled the room as his body twisted and contorted. To break free of the chains holding him in place would require more strength than any human could hope to possess, leaving him helpless to get away.

“Apologize,” said Ivan.

“I-I,” stammered Alfred.

_Fold. You can't win this one. It's okay. No one will blame you._

“I will _never_ apologize!”

“Very well,” said Ivan. “I'll ask again in ten minutes. In the meantime, take some time to think about what you've done.”

Alfred's eyes rolled up towards the ceiling as he tried to put his mind literally anywhere other than his current position. It had been bad enough before the spikes, but with them, it was almost unbearable, even more than he would ordinarily expect! The tiniest shift in his weight would bring slight relief to one side, while the other suffered infinitely more.

“H-how long has it been?” was all he could manage to squeak out.

“About five minutes,” answered Ivan. “Why? Are you ready to apologize?”

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but what would have come out was a scream. Instead, he pursed his lips and shook his head.

“As you wish,” said Ivan.

He turned the crank ever so slightly further. The metal horse stabbed further into Alfred's groin, and he howled miserably.

“Stop!” he moaned. “This is too much!”

“Was it worth it, Alfred?” said Ivan. “Was it worth it to disobey me? To break the rules that I set for you?”

“You're a monster!” said Alfred.

Ivan turned the wheel in the opposite direction, and for a moment, Alfred actually allowed himself to be relieved. Had he somehow gotten through to him? Did he finally understand?

That relief was shattered when Ivan quickly spun the wheel all the way back down, slamming Alfred's vulnerable genitalia against the spikes. The wail that immediately followed quickly turned into broken sobbing. Try as he might, he couldn't pull away. For what seemed like an eternity, he held on, but his pride was slowly crumbling away in favor of doing whatever it took to get off of the metal horse.

“P-please,” he sniffled. If he had to endure any more, he was going to die. It was too much. “I can't...!”

“Well, it's been about ten minutes,” said Ivan. “Are you sorry?”

 _“Please!”_ whimpered Alfred. Every instinct in him wanted to just say it, even if he didn't mean it, but... “I _can't!”_

“Well, then, I'll let you have it your way,” said Ivan.

He flipped another switch. Alfred flinched as he heard the distinct sound of a generator activating.

_Zap!_

A pulse of electricity burst through the spikes, causing him to yelp and jerk around in his chains.

_Zap!_

Alfred groaned. He couldn't take it anymore. How was he supposed to endure another fifty minutes?

_Zap! Zap! Zap!_

He almost wished that the electricity would zap him at a steadier pace. Instead, it came at irregular intervals, leaving him wondering how long it would be until the next one. Sometimes it came twice in a row. Other times, it would be an entire minute before the next assaulted the most sensitive parts of his body.

At one point, he leaned too far forward, and a powerful surge pulsed through his length. He screamed and jerked back, jamming his rear down hard against the spikes. As his head hung downwards, he noticed something red dripping down the side of the metal horse. Blood.

“Don't worry so much about that,” said Ivan, who also seemed to have noticed. “I'm sure it doesn't feel like it, but the spikes are too short and dull to do too much damage. We'll wash and disinfect the area, and it'll be healed by the morning!”

Alfred wanted to cuss him out. He really, _really_ did. But he was in too much pain already, and he couldn't bear the thought of some _other_ punishment right after.

“S-stop,” he panted, a shudder running through his whole body. _Zap!_ “No more!”

“It's been twenty minutes now,” said Ivan. “Are you ready to apologize?”

“I'm sssss,” Alfred hissed.

_You can't win. You're not accomplishing anything. Fold._

“I'm, I'm,” stammered Alfred. He had to. He _had_ to. He couldn't do it anymore. He was naked, pained, and humiliated. He wasn't doing himself any favors, he was just being stubborn because his pride demanded it. The smart thing to do would have been to apologize from the beginning and save himself the trouble! Getting himself injured was only going to make it harder to escape! He was actively sabotaging himself!

So _why couldn't he say it?_

“I can't! I can't, I can't, I can't!” he sobbed. “Please!”

“So proud. And so, so stubborn,” said Ivan. As though he weren't already aware. Alfred cringed as Ivan took to stroking his thigh. “Look at you. Look at how much you're suffering in the name of not having to say three little words. Just repeat after me, okay? _'I'm sorry, master!'_ Come on, you can do it!”

Alfred clenched his teeth and shook his head.

“That's a shame,” said Ivan. “I even gave you a second chance.”

He clicked another button, and Alfred's eyes became as round as dinner plates. The metal horse was beginning to grow very, very warm.

“S-stop, don't!” begged Alfred. Hot. It was getting really, _really_ hot. “No, _please! NNG!_ I won't ever swear again, so _please!”_

The chains clanked together as he tugged and writhed over the hot spikes, crying and gasping for breath. It was inhumanly painful. Complete and utter _agony._ He couldn't bear it. It was too much.

 _Is this your limit?_ asked a tiny voice in his head. _Is this the best you can do?_

_It hurts._

_Heroes don't beg. Heroes don't scream and cry._

_It hurts!_

_You're pathetic. Can't hold up two days without whining like a little bitch._

_No one could endure this without crying! No one!_

“Alfred,” said Ivan. “It's been a half an hour. Are you ready to apologize?

_Yes. Just say it. It hurts._

_You should be able to laugh this off like it's nothing. Spit in his face._

_It hurts. Say it. Apologize._

_You weak fucking coward._

Alfred squeaked something out in a small, broken voice.

“I'm sorry, Alfred,” said Ivan with a growing smile. “I didn't quite catch that. Remember to turn and face me, or I might not hear you!”

“I-I'm,” stammered Alfred, unable to even see Ivan through all of the tears blurring his vision. “I, I, I'm s- _s'ry.”_

“You're sorry, what?”

“I'm s-sorry, m-m...” His cheeks burned with embarrassment. It felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself with shame. “M-master.”

Ivan's eyes lit up. “Good boy!”

He clicked the remote, and a rush of satisfaction filled the void that had been left in Alfred's body. It only succeeded in making him feel even more ashamed.

 _Click!_ The heat was turned off. It was amazing how fast the metal returned to room temperature.

“Now,” said Ivan. “Since you're doing so well, I'll even turn the electricity off, if you can keep this up. Repeat after me, okay? _'Thank you, master, I've learned my lesson.' ”_

So Ivan was trying to keep the ball rolling. Of course.

_Say it. You've already given in, you worthless sack of shit. What's one more?_

“Thank you, master,” said Alfred in a shaky, but hollow voice. _Zap!_ “I've learned my lesson.”

The electricity came to a stop as Ivan pressed some more buttons. Alfred felt another surge of good, fuzzy feelings, like he'd accomplished something worthwhile. Surely it wasn't another feature of the device inside of him?

“And now for the spikes!” said Ivan. “Say, _'I'll be a good boy from now on, master.' ”_

Alfred couldn't even bring himself to care anymore.

“I'll be a good boy from now on, master.”

“I'm sure you will be!” said Ivan. _Click!_

The spikes retracted back into the metal horse. The wedge remained, and it still caused pain, but it was worlds more bearable than what he'd been enduring only a few minutes earlier.

Worse than the physical toll, however, was the emotional one. He'd given in. Given up! Alfred tried his best to tell himself that it wasn't something to be so ashamed of – really, it was for the best to minimize his own injuries, wasn't it? - but it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like he'd just taken everything he'd ever stood for and stomped it into the dirt.

If only he could talk to Matthew, or Francis, or, hell, even Arthur. If only he could ask them for guidance. If only he could have one of them assure him that he was making the right decision.

Battles were easy, by comparison. There were his friends, and there was an enemy. If he took down lots of enemies, it meant he was getting something accomplished. Escaping captivity, though? He had no freaking idea. He couldn't tell if he'd made any progress, or if he was exactly where he started. Alfred was completely out of his element, and it was the worst feeling in the world. How long would he have to endure before he got away? How long until he saw his friends again? Were they even still alive?

“Alfred. Alfred, pet, don't cry,” said Ivan. He stroked his thigh 'soothingly.' “There, there. Only twenty more minutes. You can do it.”

_Heroes don't need help._

_But I need help!_

_Then you're just not much of a hero, now, are you? What would all your friends think if they could see you now, already begging and pleading for mercy?_

_It was the smart thing to do!_

_Then you should have done it straight away,_ said a tiny voice in his mind. _Instead, you tried to tough it out. You gave in because you were too weak to follow through! If he'd been torturing you for information, you would have given it to him!_

Alfred hardly moved. He just let his head fall backwards and closed his eyes as he endured the remainder of the hour. It was a good thing, he supposed, that Ivan hadn't seen fit to torture him for information. Then again, he wasn't in on most of the planning so much as the execution, so maybe he'd found out from Kiku that it would have been a wasted effort. With things as they were, most of the strategies for their upcoming battle would probably have to be completely reworked to account for all of the people and resources lost in the attack, anyway.

“You're almost there, pet. Hold on.”

Ivan looked at his stopwatch and counted down for the last ten seconds. As the clock hit zero, he began cranking Alfred back up into the air, finally, _finally_ freeing him from the wedge, though he could feel some scabs painfully reopening as he was pulled away from where the blood had adhered to.

“You did it!” said Ivan. He clicked a button on the remote. “Doesn't it feel good to be absolved?”

Alfred knew in his head that the good feelings were only from the remote, but for once, he didn't care. It was nice to feel a little good about himself when he otherwise felt like complete shit. Besides, as long as he _knew_ that sense of accomplishment was just fake, it wouldn't actually have an impact, right?

As his feet touched down on the floor, he found that his knees buckled under his weight. Ivan undid the restraints around his wrists, then caught him before he fell to the floor, drained.

“You poor thing,” said Ivan, and oddly enough, it didn't sound like one of those sarcastic boasts that villains usually gave. He actually sounded concerned. “You know that it's for your own good, don't you? No, of course you don't. You will, though. In time.”

“I hate you,” said Alfred softly. His throat was hoarse from screaming and crying.

“I'm sure you do,” said Ivan. “For the moment, at least. Why don't I get you to bed, hm?”

Alfred couldn't even stand, let alone walk, but Ivan shut off his limbs and lifted him up bridal-style to carry him back up to his room. The prisoners leered and whistled as they passed back through the room, while the guards and servants just appeared disbelieving. At least Ivan had the decency to hold him in such a way that his crotch was kept mostly hidden.

He hated the kennel, but after what he'd endured, being set back down inside of it on the dog bed and locked back up was oddly relieving. His first action upon regaining his capacity for movement was to curl up into a ball on his side.

“You poor thing,” said Ivan, looking almost regretful. “You know what? I have an idea. Why don't I have a servant get you a nice, warm plate of cookies? Would you like that?”

Alfred grunted. He had no idea what Ivan was playing at, but he would be lying if he said that didn't sound heavenly right about then.

“What kind would you like, Alfred? Oatmeal?”

 _Disgusting._ Alfred shook his head.

“Chocolate chip,” mumbled Alfred. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that, whatever Ivan was trying to accomplish, he was probably playing right into his hands.

“Of course you do,” said Ivan. “Those are your favorite, aren't they? I'll get you a baker's dozen.”

Alfred grunted again.

“That's fine, I don't expect a 'thank you.' Not yet,” said Ivan. “I'll be getting that later today.”

Before Alfred could finish processing that last little statement and ask him just what the flying fuck he meant by _that,_ Ivan had already left.

Bored and desperate for a distraction, Alfred reflexively reached for the GBM that Ivan had left by his side. He quickly put it back down again when he remembered that, oh, yeah, it wasn't _really_ a phone, and he couldn't call or text anyone with it.

_Worthless. Worthless. Worthless._

He hastily snatched it back up. Scrolling through bullshit was better than being left alone with his thoughts.

' _460 GBP'_ was his total.

Alfred kicked his legs indecisively. He really, _really_ needed something to distract himself. His ass and groin hurt like a bitch, and his mind wasn't faring a whole heck of a lot better. Reluctantly, he decided to see what he could find in the _'Toys'_ section.

 _'Sort by Price – Lowest to Highest,'_ he selected, followed by checking off all of the boxes that weren't sex toys.

Some of the cheapest were things like sheets of paper and crayons. There were colored pencils, but not one was sharpened. The actual pencil sharpener was still locked, probably for fear of him breaking it apart to access the blade.

The catalogue had a pretty wide range of items, from the juvenile to, well, dildos. In the end, he settled on a small container of air-drying clay for 200 points. Most of the locks were print scanners. Would he be able to get Ivan's with it, somehow? Or perhaps he could sculpt some sort of a weapon? If it was air-drying, it was probably incredibly brittle, though. In any case, it was something.

While he waited, he attempted to put the thong Ivan had also taken care to bring back with them back on. It turned out to be a bad idea; the tiniest of friction or pressure against his underside was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

 _It's okay,_ he thought unconvincingly. _I didn't give up anything important._

Haha, yeah. Because his dignity was completely unimportant, right?

Alfred pressed his hand to his chest and took a deep, shaky breath. He was a soldier, and a _hero,_ at that. If Ivan sent out videos of him crying like a little bitch, who knew what it would do? He had to be strong. No, not just strong. He had to be a pillar of justice, unrelenting against the forces of evil trying to chip away at him!

He forced himself upright to sit on his knees.

“You can do this, Alfred,” he said quietly. He was just tired, that was all! “You can _do_ this!”

Eventually, a servant did, in fact, come around to bring him a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Ivan had even been thoughtful enough to provide him with a large glass of milk. Both were slid gingerly underneath the little doggy-door at the bottom of the cage. Alfred kept his distance on the opposite side while she opened it, both to keep from frightening her, and to make sure she didn't get any up-close peaks at his junk.

As soon as she was gone, he eagerly shoved the top cookie down his throat. It tasted like joy!

“Oh, sweet, sweet calories,” he said, covering his mouth so as not to let any crumbs escape. “You always make everything better!”

Matthew always chewed him out over his habit of comfort-eating, but it wasn't as though he didn't exercise enough to make up for it. Briefly, Alfred contemplated doing some sit-ups to keep his abs firm, but he quickly abandoned the idea when he remembered just how much his ass still hurt. Push-ups and jogging in place would have to be his go-to exercises for the next couple of days.

If only he had a bag to punch. He'd seen one in the catalogue, but with only 260 points remaining, he couldn't afford it.

Alfred sighed. Ivan was really intent on making him work for even the smallest of pleasures, wasn't he? He couldn't even have halfway decent food without behaving himself in the way that Ivan demanded. The kibble wasn't _horrible,_ but the thought of living off of it was enough to make him gag. As for his cage, well, he essentially had no means of entertaining himself.

He pressed his forehead against the bars. How long until they brought him that modeling clay, anyway? The thong had been pretty quick, but then again, it was obvious that Ivan had prepared it in advance. Did someone actually have to go out and buy it, or something?

Oh well. At least he still had his cookies. Their taste put him at ease, if only a little.

 

* * *

 

“Hitting the gym today, my prince?” asked Toris, a tablet and stylus in hand. Side by side, they walked down the winding corridor, flanked by guards.

Ivan nodded. “Even in chains, he wasn't easy to hold in place. With court canceled for the time being, I think it's a good idea to make sure I'm staying in shape.”

“Don't forget about tomorrow's meeting with the Duke of Arbine.  You wouldn't want to be too sore for that.”

“Of course not, Toris,” said Ivan in his usual, upbeat tone.

“You sound awfully happy,” said Toris uneasily. “I mean, you usually hate meeting with him.”

Truthfully, Ivan was a little surprised that he'd apparently made it so obvious, but then, Toris was quite perceptive. He refused to be ashamed of how much the duke annoyed him, however. Who the hell not only insisted on bringing their cats to meetings as 'advisers,' but then proceeded to fall asleep five minutes in?

“Well, I have a much-needed distraction now!” said Ivan. Just the thought was enough to redden his cheeks and fill his stomach with butterflies.

“The rebel?” said Toris. “I don't know; isn't he dangerous?”

“Of course he's dangerous,” said Ivan. “But then, so am I.”

Toris edged away, not needing to be reminded.

“Still,” said Toris. “He's a killer, isn't he?”

“It's a very relative term,” said Ivan. “From our perspective, he's responsible for countless deaths. From his, so are we. He called me evil the other day, you know. Evil!  Can you believe it?  Were he not a soldier, I would call his worldview innocent. Instead, I'll opt to call it 'misguided.' ”

“He'll slit your throat in a second if you give him the opportunity, Prince Ivan,” said Toris warily.

“I'm not stupid, Toris.  I know that. In fact, keeping a live lion in my room would probably be safer,” said Ivan. “Lions, at least, are stupid.”

“Then _why?”_

“Because the danger is what makes it fun!” admitted Ivan. “There's something thrilling about possessing something that wants to kill you and keeping it subdued!”

Toris sighed. “You could have 'possessed' him in the dungeon, instead of getting that cage for your room. Don't you think that's kind of, err, eccentric?”

“Probably,” said Ivan. “But now I don't have to keep going all the way to the dungeon every time I want to spend time with him. Besides, what if another prisoner tried to lay their hands on what's mine? That would be unacceptable.”

“He'd probably snap their neck,” said Toris flatly. “I don't think he requires protection, Ivan.”

“In any case, it's easier for me to keep an eye on his progress this way,” said Ivan. “Besides, it would just be mean to make him trek all the way back down their every time I'm 'done' with him.”

Toris' face practically turned green. “I still can't believe you're actually trying to turn him into a concubine. Since when were you interested in men, anyway?”

“Since always. The king was quite surprised when I informed him,” said Ivan.

“And what about the rebel?”

“According to Kiku, he's the same, which might make things a little bit easier. To think, I tested all those drugs on hundreds of monkeys trying to alter their sexualities for nothing! Oh well. The research might help future population size control, if that gets out of hand.”

“That's, umm, that's really creepy, actually,” said Toris quietly.

“Hm?”

Toris quickly backpedaled.  “Eheh, err, what I meant to say was, umm, h-have you told Princess Natalya yet?”

“I think she suspects,” said Ivan, shuddering. “I admit, I wasn't very subtle during our last meeting. I knew I should have gotten him a separate chair. Honestly, even if I preferred women, though...”

“Times have certainly changed from when it was normal for royals to marry within the family,” said Toris. He seemed just a little too pleased by Ivan's fervent rejection of his sister's affections. “It's a shame that she can't find anyone else. I'm sure there are many, _many_ would-be suitors!”

“She's scared most of them away, actually,” said Ivan. “I'm surprised she didn't scare you off, too.”

Toris froze.

“Yes, Toris, I know of your infatuation. You're very obvious about it,” said Ivan, laughing. “Even if I minded, you wouldn't stand a chance. Still, you've been a good adviser to me, and the Fall Gala is only a month off. If you'd like, I can introduce you.” It would give him a great opportunity to get the hell away from her. He loved his sister dearly, but not like _that._

“R-really?” said Toris, looking positively delighted. “I would be _honored!”_

“I'll be sure to make some funeral preparations, then!” said Ivan cheerfully. “Tell me, what color coffin would you prefer?”

Toris laughed. “That's a good one.”

“No, really. She usually manages to avoid stabbing foreign nobles for fear of a war, but you don't exactly have that going for you.”

“Wait, what?”

 

* * *

 

_Wham!_

Not good enough.

_WHAM!_

His fists may as well have been butterflies, for all the good it would do him.

“H-hey,” said Gilbert softly. “Mattie, your knuckles are bleeding.”

“I have to get stronger,” said Matthew. His breathing was heavy, and his body was drenched with sweat. The blue board had become stained with splatters of brown and red, but it was still intact.

“You're taking this too far, Matthew,” said Gilbert. “You've been training for almost twelve hours straight! You need a break!”

“I'll take a break when I _pound his face into a bloody pulp!”_ snarled Matthew.

Gilbert took a step back, unused to hearing something so vicious from someone who was ordinarily so quiet and polite.

“Mattie,” said Gilbert, “I know you're angry and upset, but-”

“But _what?”_ said Matthew, turning around and marching forward to look Gilbert right in the eyes. “Are _you_ a traitor, too?”

“I know that you're mad at Kiku!” said Gilbert. “I know! Believe me, I know! But this? This is _stupid!”_

“I have to train!” said Matthew, turning around again. “I have to get stronger!”

“You're not going to get stronger by injuring yourself!”

Matthew slammed his fist against the board once more. His knuckles felt like they were on fire.

“Mattie!” said Gilbert. When Matthew ignored him in favor of raising his fist at the board again, he hurried forward to grab him from behind in a full nelson. “Mattie, _listen to me!”_

“Fuck off, Gilbert!”

Matthew raised his leg to kick him in the shin, but Gilbert threw him to the ground and pinned him to the floor.

“Look at yourself!” said Gilbert. “You're exhausted!”

“I'm _fine!”_

“You can't even throw me off, can you?” asked Gilbert.

“I'm _fucking fine!”_

“You're _not_ fine!” shouted Gilbert. “You're angry and hurt on the inside, so you're trying to distract yourself by hurting on the outside, instead!”

“What do _you_ know?” cried Matthew. “What the _fuck_ do _you_ know?”

“I know a hell of a lot more than you think I do!” said Gilbert. “When I left my family to join the rebellion – when I left my little brother – it _killed_ me inside, you know? But Matt, you can't cope like this. It's not good for you, and it's not going to help you get Alfred back!”

“You don't understand,” said Matthew hollowly. “I have to be as strong as he was. I have to talk like he did. They all think I'm just a second Alfred. I have to be what they want. If I'm not, if I _can't,_ then what? What if we lose? What if Alfred dies over there because I wasn't strong enough? What if he dies because I was too busy taking a break to save him?”

Gilbert firmly took his hand and began wrapping a roll of bandages around his knuckles.

“You're never going to be Alfred,” said Gilbert firmly. “But, you know, Alfred could never be _you,_ either. You've got a lot of skills that Alfred could never dream of. That's what made you two such a great team, wasn't it?”

Matthew let his head roll to the side to stare at the wall.

“If you're really determined to take his place as Alfred 2.0,” said Gilbert, “you're going to fail. You've gotta do it _your_ way. You have to do it as _Matthew.”_

“I can't,” said Matthew. “I can't just go out and say what I think to thousands of people. Doing it as Matthew just isn't good enough.”

“Then don't!” said Gilbert.

“Excuse me?”

“Just do that thing pop singers do!”

“Are you suggesting that I record a speech in private and lip-sync it?” said Matthew.

“Exactly!”

“But that's lying!”

“You're still giving the speech,” said Gilbert. “Just in your own way! It's not lying, it's strategically withheld information!”

Matthew gave it a long moment of thought.

“Since when did you start coming up with good ideas?”

“I always come up with good ideas!” said Gilbert. “People just don't like to acknowledge them!”

For the first time in a while, Matthew managed a small, barely-audible chuckle.

“Okay, Gilbert,” he said at last. “I'll do it.”

“Good!” said Gilbert. “Now, while you're all nice and compliant, we're gonna go take a lunch break before you pass out from exhaustion.”

Matthew was still reluctant to leave. “But-”

“No buts! I'm making you a triple-serving of pancakes!”

He really wasn't taking no for an answer, was he? Matthew took a deep breath.

“You suck at making pancakes,” said Matthew. “I'll do it.”

“If you insist!”

“Wait, you were supposed to say 'no' just then!”

“Kesesesesese!”

“Gilbeeeeert!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, that ended at a bit of a weird place. ^^' In any case, thank you for reading!


	7. Truth and Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is showing up so late in the day! I almost forgot it was Friday! Anyway, thanks for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy it! This chapter is a little longer than the last one, and I managed to get a little more editing time in, too. I'm sure there are still some errors, but, well, you can feel free to point them out in the comments, or something, and I'll fix them ASAP.

“No,” said Alfred flatly.

“Your injuries have to be cleaned, or you're going to end up getting all sorts of infections,” said Eduard.

“And if that happens, we're both dead!” squeaked Raivis.

“Yeah, you're still making the assumption that I care whether or not you guys live or die,” said Alfred.

Alfred shoved another cookie down his gullet and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd been doing just fine calming himself down with some food therapy when his esteemed 'caretakers' had arrived with a first aid kit full of wipes and sprays. It wouldn't have been so bad, but the location of the injuries had him reluctant to allow anyone else to treat them.

“Be that as it may, you don't have a choice,” said Eduard. He clicked a button on the remote, and Alfred's body fell lifelessly against the bars. “I'm afraid that Raivis and I quite enjoy living.”

“Come on! Can't I just clean it myself?” said Alfred. It would sting like a wasp, yes, but his pride had already been beaten on like a battered housewife.

The door was opened, and Alfred was set down on his back with his arms above his head. Eduard held up his legs while Raivis prepared the antibacterial wipes.

“This is just great,” muttered Alfred.

“At least you won't feel any pain this way,” said Raivis.

It was only a small comfort as Raivis' gloved hand carefully lifted his testicles and began disinfecting the wounds.

“Isn't this gross for you?” complained Alfred, blushing furiously. It was bad enough when he was touched there by doctors, but a pair of enemy soldiers?

“We've seen and handled worse than your genitals, I assure you,” said Eduard. “I once tended to a man who'd been shot in the groin. Be thankful that your testicles aren't falling out.”

Alfred shivered, as did Raivis. Just imagining that was enough to make him cringe.

“Didn't the prince say that he was thinking about-” began Raivis, but Eduard was quick to interrupt.

“He changed his mind, remember?” said Eduard.

“Did he?”

“Wait, what did he change his mind about?” demanded Alfred.

Eduard sighed. “In the early planning phases, Prince Ivan briefly considered having you, err...”

“He was asking the doctors if he could make you less aggressive by neutering you,” said Raivis.

The complete and total horror of that single sentence was enough to make Alfred's eyes widen, and his heart start thudding along at a mile a minute.

“He _what?”_

“Calm down, it's been off the table for a while, now,” said Eduard.

“Calm down? These are my balls that we're talking about, here!” said Alfred. He felt as though he were on the verge of hyperventilating. “Oh God, what if he _changes his mind?”_

“He won't,” said Eduard.

_“How do you know?”_

“Because the doctors told him that their removal could cause, err, side effects,” said Eduard.

“Oh, right, now I remember!” said Raivis. “He was worried about-”

“Raivis!”

“What was he worried about?” demanded Alfred. _“Tell me!”_

Eduard sighed. “It could have reduced or eliminated your sex drive.”

Alfred blinked. “Wh-what?”

“What's not to understand?” said Raivis. “That would be kind of unpleasant, don't you think?”

“But why would he _care?”_ asked Alfred.

Raivis set aside the used wipe to retrieve a spray-on bandage.

“Well, the prince is kind of scary and sadistic, but it probably isn't very fun to have a bored sexual partner,” said Raivis.

“S-s...”

“Raivis,” sighed Eduard. “If he doesn't already know, we probably weren't supposed to tell him.”

“Oh,” said Raivis. His eyes suddenly widened. _“Oh!_ Oops...”

“Y-you guys are just joking, right?” said Alfred. Deep down, though, he knew it should have been obvious. Every last action of Ivan's had made it clear that he found Alfred attractive, but somehow, he'd convinced himself that he had only been doing it to mess with him. “H-he's not _really_ going to...”

“Well, there's no point in trying to hide it now,” said Eduard. “Yes, Alfred. The prince fully intends to have sex with you. I don't know when, why, or how, but the whole point of you being here was so you could be trained as a concubine.”

As the liquid bandage dried and his legs were set back on the ground, Alfred felt his stomach begin to churn unpleasantly.

“A concubine?” he said slowly. “He wants me to be his _sex slave?”_

“Slavery is illegal,” said Raivis. “You're-”

“It's the _same. Freaking. Thing.”_

“It is,” agreed Eduard. “I'm sorry, Alfred, but you've legally lost your personhood. As far as anyone is concerned, you're just a piece of property.”

“Y-you can't have sex with animals, either!” said Alfred. He was still safe! It was still illegal!

“You're actually considered less than an animal right now,” said Raivis. “More like a piece of furniture.”

And with that, his hopes were shattered.

“There's no way,” said Alfred in a small voice. “There's no way people will let him get away with this, right? Someone will point out how unethical it is, won't they?”

No. Of course they wouldn't. Why would they? He was just a traitorous peasant, after all.

“Are you okay?” asked Raivis uneasily.

 _“No!_ No, I'm _not_ okay!” said Alfred. “How could I _possibly_ be okay? I'm tired, I'm naked, I'm injured, I'm _alone,_ and now it turns out that it's only a matter of time before I'm r-ra-” He couldn't bring himself to say the 'r' word. That sort of thing just didn't _happen_ to heroes. To _him._ “-forced to have sex with a psycho!”

He wanted to struggle and fight, but he couldn't. He wanted to scream and cry, but he didn't. Instead, Alfred remained quiet and limp as Eduard and Raivis finished disinfecting his wounds and hurriedly left the kennel. He didn't even move when it became possible again, and the pain of his injuries flared back up. Instead, he stared blankly at the ceiling of his cage, trying to keep himself calm.

_I'm fine. I don't need any help. I'm a hero. I can do this._

_It hurts. I need someone to talk to. Someone save me. I can't take it anymore._

It took several minutes for Alfred to realize that he'd been left alone again. Had Eduard and Raivis not even thought to say goodbye before they'd left? No. No,of course they wouldn't care. To them, he was just a 'killing machine,' right? There probably wasn't a single person in the castle who actually felt any actual concern for his well-being. Why would they?

Alfred's lower lip trembled. Every time he told himself that he could keep it together, it just got harder and harder. Was it so terrible to want someone to hold him and tell him that it would be okay?

_I don't need any help. Heroes don't need any help. I don't need any help. I shouldn't need help. I can't need help._

It was fine. He was fine. He _was_ fine, wasn't he?

Alfred took a deep breath and held back his tears, even as it resulted in an unpleasant headache. He clambered back to his knees and took a series of deep, slow breaths.

It was no longer a matter of waiting for the perfect opportunity. He had to get out as soon as he possibly could. But how?

Alfred turned his attention down to the clear doggy door that people pushed food and items through. It was incredibly small. Too small for him to have any hope of fitting. Unless...

He eyed his own body and evaluated his muscle and fat levels. As a child, back when food had been so difficult to come by, he'd been quite slender. Even after hitting puberty, he and his brother had never become _particularly_ large. It wasn't until they'd joined the rebellion that they were able to eat properly and bulk up.

Could he fit, if he slimmed down enough? If he refused to eat and let his muscles atrophy away? Surely there was something slippery in the catalogue to help him squeeze through. Something buttery, or greasy.

_Then what? If you're weak and malnourished, you can't fight._

No, fighting would be off the table. But then, did he _have_ to be seen? If he could make his escape at night, he could grab the remote while Ivan slept and make his getaway in the dark. The halls would surely be riddled with guards, but what if he could get out through the balcony? All he had to do was acquire Ivan's fingerprints.

_I still have to get down to the ground, though._

Alfred frowned and got to his feet, hoping to get a better angle to see how high the balcony appeared. Ivan's room was on the top floor of the main building (not including the towers), so it wasn't going to be easy, especially with minimal muscle and nutrition.

He paced the floor in thought. There were extra sheets in the catalogue, but that would be incredibly suspicious; for what purposes other than a sheet rope would he need so many? No, it would have to be something that Ivan wouldn't be so surprised that he was getting a lot of. Clothes, maybe.

From there, it was just a matter of putting as much distance between himself and the castle as possible. If he kept to the sunflower field, it would be easy enough to hide. Alfred had the technical skills to hot-wire a car once he happened across one. It would suck to have to steal, but it was probably a bunch of rich nobles living in the immediate vicinity of Ivan's castle, anyway. They wouldn't miss it.

Alfred managed to relax himself a little. He had a plan. He had _hope._

All that remained was to execute it.

 

* * *

 

Ivan flexed, a little sore, but mostly satisfied. If it didn't hurt a little, it just meant that he hadn't pushed himself to his limits.

He gave himself a brief rinse in the showers to make sure that he didn't completely reek of sweat as he was walking through the halls, but didn't spend too much time actively washing himself. It would have been a wasted effort, given that he was planning on showering the moment he got back to his room.

“Prince Ivan!” called Toris as he exited the gym. “Perfect timing! The website has been coded, and we're in the process of testing it now. Court should be able to resume next week.”

Ivan pouted slightly. At least he would have a _brief_ vacation. Court was held only three days out of the week from about nine o'clock to five, but it was always dreadfully boring. The other two weekdays were reserved for dealing with other nobles, usually in the form of web conferences. He almost resented the creation of the internet; being able to do everything over video chats meant that conferences were more frequent, less productive, and always in the same room. It was rare to get the opportunity to meet other nobles in person outside of the seasonal galas.

However, he couldn't sound _too_ disappointed that things would be up and running again so soon. That would have been rather unprofessional.

“Good work, Toris!” said Ivan. “I can always count on you to get the job done, can't I?”

“Yes, sir!” said Toris proudly. “Oh, but I didn't come here for just that. You see, Alfred has requested a small container of instant-dry clay, but it would be cheaper in the long run to buy them wholesale, assuming he wants more in the future. What do you think?”

“Clay?” said Ivan. He hadn't taken Alfred for the creative type. Then again, he was probably incredibly bored in his kennel, and he didn't have very many points left for better toys. It was a good thing, then, that Ivan was on his way back. It pained him to think about his poor little pet sitting injured and alone, completely starved for love and attention. “Get the first one individually, and if he asks for more later, buy a unit wholesale.”

“Yes, sir,” said Toris. He rapidly jotted down notes with his stylus. “Might I be so bold as to ask how you intend to spend the rest of the day?”

“Probably with Alfred,” said Ivan. He covered his face to conceal his blush. “I mean, all the time I've spent with him so far has been punishing him one way or another. I tried to give him a little space while he calms down, but I think he needs to know not to expect horrible agony from my every touch, you know?”

“Oh. Yes. Well,” said Toris uncomfortably. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Of course, Toris,” said Ivan. He held up the remote that kept Alfred under control and waved it in front of Toris' face. “I'm always careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ivan tried not to appear too rushed as he hurried back to his room, but it was just so difficult to contain his excitement! At long last, Alfred didn't have any punishments queued up. He understood the rules, _probably_ wouldn't get himself into trouble over something silly, and would _hopefully_ do as he was told without too much fuss. Finally! No spankings, no sitting on his bruises, no metal horses! Just the two of them, all alone. Pleasantly. _Together._

He practically skipped through the door.

“Alfred?” he called cheerfully.

His head turned to observe the cage, where Alfred appeared to be thoughtfully pacing back and forth. The way he chewed his lip and crinkled his nose were quite the sight to behold. Well, while it lasted, at least. The moment Alfred registered his name being called, he froze up like a squirrel in headlights and turned to stare at Ivan with wide, horrified eyes. It was a little heartbreaking to think that his pet already regarded him with such apprehension, and he approached the cage gingerly.

“Easy,” said Ivan. “It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you.”

“Stay away from me!” said Alfred. In spite of his injuries, he pressed his back to the cage wall opposite to where Ivan stood.

“There's no need to be frightened,” said Ivan. He smiled, but kept his distance from the cage bars.

“I'm not scared of you!” said Alfred. He sounded unconvinced.

“Of course not,” said Ivan. “My brave little pet would never be frightened of his master as long as he's behaved himself, yes?”

“You're not my master,” said Alfred. “I have no master!”

“Sit, boy.”

Alfred hesitated, but quickly dropped to his knees the moment Ivan's hand began to reach for his pocket. His pretty pink lips curled inward to expose his teeth.

“Good boy,” said Ivan.

His hand still reached into his pocket, but rather than push the fine button, he instead gave Alfred a nice little dose of dopamine. Ivan had quickly grown to love the cute little look on his face that Alfred gave every time the reward center of his brain was stimulated. It was the strangest mix of confusion, delight, and fury that he'd ever seen.

“Now lay down,” said Ivan.

“This doesn't mean anything,” grumbled Alfred, even as he slowly lowered his chest to the ground. “I'm just avoiding unnecessary injuries, that's all!”

“Good boy!” said Ivan, and gave Alfred a second click. “You see? Good pets get to feel good things!”

Alfred visibly gagged.

“You'd better stay away,” he growled like an angry cat hiding under the bed.

Ivan clicked the button to prevent movement signals from getting through to Alfred's limbs and unlocked the cage door.

“I'm warning you!” said Alfred.

“You really _are_ like a cornered animal,” said Ivan. “Fear not, pet. You aren't going to the vet.”

Alfred cringed, as though Ivan's wording had made him genuinely uneasy.

“However,” said Ivan, “you _are_ in dire need of a bath.”

 

* * *

 

Alfred did his best to get away, but scooting forward with nothing but his chin was a hell of a lot harder in real life than it was in the cartoons.

“Come, now. Surely you're feeling a little grimy. You haven't been properly bathed in a few days,” said Ivan.

“Don't _touch_ me!” said Alfred.

It was futile. For what had to be the billionth time, Ivan picked him up off of the ground.

“Easy, pet. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Put me down! You're disgusting!”

“Well, I _did_ just return from the gym,” said Ivan. Alfred could hardly believe what he was hearing. Did he really not understand what he was referring to, or did he just not care? “It's fine, though. We'll both be clean soon!”

“Not _that_ kind of disgusting!” spat Alfred. “I meant mentally! You're sick! _Depraved!”_

“Oh my,” said Ivan, appearing offended. “You're even crueler than usual! Did something happen?”

Ivan swiped his thumb over the scanner to access the bathroom. Alfred snapped his jaws at the door frame as they passed through. He was willing to do anything to drag himself out of the prince's steely grip.

“Alfred,” said Ivan. He took a moment to adjust the way that he was holding Alfred, and cradled his head against his shoulder. “Pet, what's the matter?”

“You want to know what the problem is?” said Alfred.

“I do!”

That smiling son of a bitch was on Alfred's last nerve.

“Well, I'll tell you, then,” said Alfred. “I am _not going to be your concubine!”_

Ivan's lips parted into a small gasp.

“Oh, surprised I found out?” snarled Alfred.

“A little, yes,” said Ivan. Alfred's gaze hardened. So it was true! “I presume Eduard and Raivis told you?”

“Why? You think I'm too stupid to figure it out on my own?”

Ivan sighed.

“So it _was_ them. I shall have to have a chat with them later,” he said. Alfred didn't envy those two. “Until then, though...”

Alfred violently shook his head from side to side as Ivan opened up the clear shower door where the chair with the stirrups awaited him. He _hated_ not being able to struggle as he was eased into the seat and his wrists were locked into place. He _despised_ having his legs bound lewdly to either side, leaving his body on display for all to see.

“Let me go!” said Alfred. As soon as he was able, he began to tug and yank at his restraints. His cheeks – the ones on his _face!_ \- were crimson with embarrassment, but for all his attempts, he couldn't cover himself. The sight of Ivan giving his exposed genitals an appreciative look-over sickened him to his very core.

“Let you go?” said Ivan. He giggled and patted Alfred's head. “Silly pet. Were it not for me, you would be dead right now. Is that what you want?”

Initially, Alfred opened his mouth to say 'yes.' Yes, surely death would have been the better option! He could have gone out with dignity! Honor! Instead, Ivan was determined to rip it all away!

 _But you don't want to die,_ his mind pointed out unhelpfully. _You're afraid of it._

“Y-yes?” said Alfred, and he knew immediately that it was an obvious lie. Not only had he hesitated, but he spoke without conviction. He'd said the word as though it were a _question,_ for fuck's sake!

“Poor thing. You're determined not to disappoint people,” said Ivan, and Alfred's breath caught in his throat. “You're terrified of death, but you're even _more_ terrified of being alone and unloved again, aren't you?”

“No!” said Alfred reflexively. “That's not true!”

“You don't have to be afraid anymore,” said Ivan, cupping his cheek. “I can protect you from death _and_ loneliness.”

“I'm not afraid!”

“There's no shame in being afraid,” said Ivan. He pulled his hand away from Alfred's face just before the space it had occupied was replaced by gnashing teeth. “It's only natural to have an aversion to death. It's how we evolved as a species. To feel otherwise means one is mentally imbalanced; either they cannot produce the chemicals in their brain necessary for fear, or they're so miserable that it seems preferable to life.”

“Heroes don't feel fear!” said Alfred. “They would gladly sacrifice their lives to save another!”

“And what makes you think that a willingness to sacrifice yourself means that you aren't afraid?” asked Ivan. “Surely you understood it when you thought you were about to be executed. You kept trying to act brave, even though you were scared out of your mind.”

“I wasn't-”

“Even a parent sacrificing their life for their child is only prioritizing one fear over another,” said Ivan. “In such a case, it would be the fear of loss over the fear of death. Fear of death is not always the strongest, you see, but it is ever-present. Short of, say, surgical alterations to your frontal lobe, you will never completely escape it.”

Alfred tugged harder at his binds.

_“I am not afraid!”_

“Stubborn as ever,” said Ivan. “Well, why don't we try something to _really_ wash away all those negative thoughts, hm? Excuse me a moment.”

Alfred practically shook with rage as Ivan exited the shower. Of all the things he hated, Ivan was at the top of the list! He was a monster! A _jerk!_ A _sick pervert!_ He, he...

He could read Alfred like a book.

“Terribly sorry for the wait,” said Ivan, poking his head around the foggy door. The moment he stepped in, Alfred seized up in horror.

Not only was Ivan still _looking_ at him, but he was _naked._ Alfred didn't dare look down at his crotch; at least that way, he could keep hoping that he had some sort of a tiny pencil dick.

“I-I won't let you, you hear?” stammered Alfred. “I won't let this happen!”

Ivan tried to touch his cheek again, and Alfred recoiled. If Ivan was going to do it, then he was just going to have to make it as difficult as possible, damn it!

“You're very cute when you're scared, but you can be at ease,” said Ivan. “I don't think the time is quite right to take it to that level. You just need to be washed, that's all.”

“Washed?” said Alfred. He refused to believe that bullshit for even a moment. “In this position?”

“The position of your arms and legs can be adjusted,” said Ivan.

Ivan pushed a button on the shower wall. (Alfred was beginning to get really sick of him and his fucking buttons.) Just like that, his the restraints holding his legs descended, keeping them bent, but pointing towards the ground.

“Ta-da! Please understand, it's just until you learn to sit still while I clean you,” said Ivan.

Alfred couldn't lie to himself; being told that his virginity was safe (at least for the moment) was a huge relief. It wasn't that he considered himself particularly religious, or anything. In fact, his knowledge of religion in general was pretty limited as a result of his upbringing, or lack thereof. If anything, he usually found the distinct lack of sex in his life a rather embarrassing byproduct of his limited free time. Several women had propositioned him, true, but he didn't exactly bat for that team.

As for men, well, people always tended to assume one was straight until told otherwise, and he didn't really know what to do about _that_ short of announcing it to every remotely attractive guy that he met. Alfred had briefly considered online dating, but with all the people who knew him, the only way to keep himself from being spammed would be to hide who he was, and he didn't think it was fair not to let people know just what they were getting into. Anyone who dated him would surely become a target, after all.

That having been said, sex was still an intimate act. It was a show of trust and affection, in which your partner saw you at your most vulnerable. The thought of being in that position with not only an _enemy,_ but a member of the _royal family,_ was positively mortifying. He didn't consider his body particularly sacred, but it wasn't just some toy that Ivan could feel free to violate at his leisure, either! His body was _him._ He was a human being!

“I can clean myself,” said Alfred.

Ivan reached behind him to turn on the water. Alfred flinched, expecting a blast of cold, but the droplets that rained down on them were already warm.

“Of course you can! But you wouldn't, would you?” said Ivan. “No, you'd just make a mess and try to escape.”

“You can shut me down any time you want!”

“I could, but the tile is quite unforgiving, unlike the floor of your kennel,” said Ivan. “And there are so many edges that could split your skull open if you fell on them wrong! Please understand that this is much safer for you.”

Alfred threw his head back and groaned, but there was nothing he could do. Thankfully, Ivan opted to keep his hands to himself for the time being, and lathered up his platinum-blonde hair with a yellow, sunflower-scented shampoo. He appeared more or less unaffected by Alfred's misery and discomfort, and hummed some unrecognizable tune as he rinsed himself off.

“What scent do you prefer?” asked Ivan, motioning towards the shelf. Several different bottles were stored on the shelves, most of them based on flowers.

“Whichever one you hate the most.”

“How very unfortunate for you that I don't keep things that I hate,” said Ivan.

“You keep me!”

“Aww, Alfred, I don't hate you!” said Ivan. “Where in the world did you get that awful idea?”

“It's a mystery,” said Alfred sarcastically.

Ivan continued to peruse the different options for a moment longer. Lavender, hibiscus blossom, and summer breeze were among them. None of them seemed particularly fitting for someone like him, at least to Alfred, and he wondered if there was a shampoo that smelled of frostbite-induced gangrene. _That_ would suit Ivan perfectly.

After much thought, Ivan finally settled on a translucent red bottle.

“Of course! Kiku said you like roses!” said Ivan victoriously.

Alfred scowled at the mere mention of the name. His frown only deepened as Ivan leaned over to scrub a glob of pink into his greasy blonde hair.

“Why would you even ask Kiku those kinds of things?” said Alfred, irritated. He avoided looking at Ivan's face, opting to instead face downwards. It turned out to be a bad idea, however, as he was unable to avoid the bitter realization that _damn,_ Ivan had some fine muscles. They were marred by a handful of random, jagged scars running down his neck and chest, true, but he was sculpted like a freaking statue. Alfred furrowed his brow. To think that he would have to reduce himself to a small, bony husk if his escape plan had any hope of working.

If Ivan noticed the annoyed look on Alfred's face, he chose not to comment on it. At least, not just yet.

“I ask because I want to learn more about you, of course,” said Ivan.

“You're not gonna find a whole lot of blackmail material in my favorite flower,” said Alfred.

“Oh, pet. You still assume that everything I do, I do to harm you,” said Ivan. Alfred allowed himself a brief glance at his face. Wait, he actually looked kind of _hurt!_ What the fuck? “I just want what's best for you.”

“What's best for me is you dying slowly and painfully!”

“So mean! Now hold still,” said Ivan, but he only giggled and continued to scrub. Alfred grumpily muttered under his breath and resisted the desire to pull away from the fingers massaging soap into his scalp.

In his annoyance, Alfred once again made the mistake of letting his eyes wander around the room. All was well and good until, for the second time, he inadvertently glanced downward. What he saw held his gaze like the eyes of a cockatrice, though perhaps a 'basilisk' would be a more accurate description. As soon as it entered his vision, he couldn't look away.

“Do you like what you see?” teased Ivan. “No need to be intimidated, pet. We'll work your way up to it.”

Alfred snapped his head in the direction of the wall, his face newly reddened.

“We aren't gonna be doing anything of the sort!”

He was unprepared to have Ivan's hand grab his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Pet,” he said gently. “I'm afraid that the decision isn't yours to make.”

Alfred could feel his stomach doing flips.

“You wouldn't.”

“Of course I wouldn't. Not right now, when you're angry, frightened, pained, and wholly unprepared,” said Ivan. “But it _will_ happen, and you'll be grateful for a little training before that time comes. Don't fret, we'll start off with something nice and easy.”

Alfred shook his head. “No!”

“Alfred,” said Ivan. His tone had become firmer, and more authoritative. “You will obey your master, understand? You aren't a _bad pet,_ are you? Bad pets are punished!”

The bruises and cuts still ached. Alfred chose not to answer the question.

“But _good_ pets?” continued Ivan. He stood up straight to remove the shower head from the wall. Alfred closed his eyes as it was held directly above his head to rinse the shampoo from his hair. “Good pets are _rewarded.”_

“Do good pets get to go home?” Alfred couldn't stop himself from saying.

Ivan chuckled. “Of course. Good pets understand that their home is with their master.”

The high pressure of the shower head made quick work of his hair, but Ivan wasn't done quite yet. With the hand that wasn't holding it, he scrubbed Alfred's body down with a purple loofah. Horrid an experience though it was to have Ivan run his hands over his body, the frills tickled his neck, stomach, and sides, making it difficult to fight back an involuntary smile. He bit his lip and prayed that it wouldn't be noticed, but as usual, Lady Luck seemed to have abandoned him in an alleyway.

“Kiku didn't tell me that you were _ticklish,”_ said Ivan deviously.

“That's because it's not true.”

Ivan rubbed the loofah against his sides, and Alfred giggled against his will.

“That's so cute!” cooed Ivan, and Alfred's mind was filled with pleasant mental images of his smug, princely face getting roundhouse-kicked hard enough to knock out teeth.

“Don't- pffft, no, Iva-HAHA! Stop!”

As Ivan mercilessly tickled his belly and sides, Alfred almost wished he could get back on the metal horse. His body twisted beneath the onslaught, chest shaking with laughter. His breath was ragged, and he could hardly speak coherently. The restraints did their job all too well; there was nothing he could do to get away.

He knew he couldn't help himself, but it still felt terrible to laugh. Laughter implied enjoyment.

“Iv-AHAHA! Iv-an! I can't breathe!”

At last, the torment came to an end. While the rest of his body was cleaned, Alfred could only gasp for breath, too tired to continue complaining.

“Well, that was fun!” said Ivan as he set the loofah aside.

Alfred was tempted to give him a piece of his mind, but his brain was a pretty vulgar place at the moment. In fact, it had been a pretty vulgar place ever since he'd been captured.

“And now, for the best part,” said Ivan, still holding the shower head. He hovered it over Alfred's chest in such a way that jets of water came crashing down over his nipples.

The sensation caught Alfred completely off-guard. It was rare that he ever played with his own nipples, and the sudden, continuous pressure and friction made his whole body twitch.

“N-naaaaah,” moaned Alfred. “Wh-wha-”

“I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of doubling your sexual sensitivity before we got in here,” said Ivan. His eyes were filled to the brim with longing, and he slowly moved the shower head back and forth across Alfred's chest to ensure that both nipples received ample abuse. “How does it feel?”

Alfred's teeth clamped down around his tongue.

“Oh, do stop hurting yourself,” said Ivan. “This is good for you, you know? You must be terribly stressed right now. Just let yourself enjoy it.”

“Mol-est-er!” choked out Alfred.

“Ah, I see. You still think you're being sexually assaulted,” said Ivan. He smiled and took the shower head away from Alfred's nipples, prompting an immediate sigh of relief. “But pet, please allow me to enlighten you. Only people and animals can be abused, you know?”

“What are you-”

“Do you think protected sex is abusing the condom? Can you sexually assault a bed, or even a dildo?” giggled Ivan. “You poor, silly thing. You're property now, understand? An object! And objects are not required to give consent.”

Alfred's jaw ached from his teeth-gnashing fury. “I'm _not a fucking sex toy!”_

_Click!_

The sound of yet another fine only angered him further, and he jerked his limbs in every direction. Surely there had to be a weak point somewhere in the chair!

“Oh, but you are, Alfred. You even have settings, thanks to your surgery!” said Ivan. “I know it sounds bad right now, but soon enough, you'll learn to love being property. No more stressful decision-making! No more loneliness! Just service and pleasures! Now, let's relax and have some fun, shall we?”

“Fun for you, maybe!”

“I'll just increase your sensitivity to quadruple, then,” said Ivan, as though that made it all okay.

“You can't just-”

Alfred gasped as the dial was turned, first one notch, then by a second. It wasn't an immediately obvious sensation; were he laying still and unmoving in a dry area, he might not have even noticed. That, however, was not the case. Stray droplets of water still rolled down his body, and he could _feel_ their _every. Last. Movement._ Each time one so much as brushed up against the more sensitive areas of his body, Alfred's whole body convulsed.

“That's it. Is it good?” said Ivan.

His answer came in the form of a wheeze. Were he still able to speak, Alfred would have denied it wholeheartedly, but in truth, he could already feel the blood racing for his genitals. The moment Ivan brought the shower head back over his newly sensitized nipples, his body betrayed him, and his cock ascended like a flag of surrender.

“No! Stop!” said Alfred, but it sounded more like a small and inconsequential whine than protestation.

“Aww, but Alfred, you're still so dirty,” giggled Ivan. His gaze moved downwards, towards Alfred's traitorous erection. “And there's still one part of you that hasn't been cleaned yet.”

Ivan raised the legs of the chair back to their earlier, gynecology-style position, and Alfred could only watch as the vicious spray was brought lower and lower down his torso. It trailed down his ribs and naval, stopping just short of his length.

He slowly shook his head, silently pleading that Ivan just leave it at that. The device had drastically heightened his susceptibility to pleasure, and he was already a noisy type, as it was. Alfred knew damn well that he could never keep his mouth shut for _that._

With a flick of his wrist, Ivan pointed the torrent of warm water directly over the dripping head of Alfred's sex.

“AAH!” squealed Alfred. Every last muscle of his body was clenched, and his tongue hung out of his mouth. “No more! _Ah,_ please, _no more!_ Stop!”

The sensations were too many to count. Constant pressure and friction hugged his needy cock like a hot, vibrating blanket. Even the tiniest shift in position made it feel like he was being stroked by dozens of tiny, masterful hands. Alfred's arms and legs quivered with sheer bliss. No matter how many times he told himself how awful it was, the only thing that he could focus on was how perfectly _wonderful_ it felt.

 _“Please,”_ he said again. It was dismaying to find that already, he was no longer sure if he was asking for it to stop, or for more. “I-I can't-”

“Ssh, let it out.”

Alfred's breathing grew rapid, and he alternated between relaxing and tensing his muscles. His repeated yanking against the restraints became a steady tug, and humiliating little noises escaped his mouth like a full-scale prison break from his vocal cords.

“I d-don't w-wan-ah! Mm, hah! _Ah!”_ moaned Alfred. His eyes rolled upwards, and he instinctively thrust his hips.

He swallowed. Ivan was staring at him intently, which only deepened his blush.

“I think this is my favorite face that you've made thus far,” said Ivan happily. “Oh, I wish I'd thought to bring a camera!”

Not even the thought of his desperate moaning being shared with the world was enough to completely rid Alfred of his unwanted libido. He was so, _so_ close, but every time he thought that he was about to reach his peak, the angle of the water would shift just enough to throw him off and drag him back down from his high. It felt like repeatedly climbing up the sheer side of a cliff, but every time he grasped the edge, he lost his grip and fell back down to the bottom. Were it not constantly being rinsed away, his slit would have been dripping with need.

“P-please,” he whispered.

“Please, what? Is it too cold?” teased Ivan. He reached back to slightly increase the heat.

“L-let me...”

_Let me go. Let me GO. That's what I'm going to say!_

“Let me _cum!”_ begged Alfred.

“But who are you asking, Alfred? Me? You have to address people properly when you want something,” said Ivan.

Alfred cringed and shook his head, to which Ivan responded by further increasing the heat of the water and upping his sensitivity by another notch.

 _“Let me cum, master!”_ cried Alfred. _“Please!”_

“Good boy,” said Ivan.

He rewarded Alfred with another, satisfying click of dopamine, then set the remote aside to use that hand to hold Alfred's length in place. The touch alone was enough to make him whimper and wriggle. With his genitals restrained against the merciless battery of the water, it was only moments before the constantly-mounting pressure finally began to build uninterrupted. Alfred keened and caterwauled, his vocabulary devoid of proper words. All he could do was allow his body to be consumed by endless, unrelenting pleasure.

When he finally came, he came _hard._ His toes curled, and his fingernails dug into his palms. Alfred submitted meekly to the feeling of Ivan's hand slowly pumping his sex, dragging out his orgasmic bliss as his seed gushed from his slit.

“Good boy,” said Ivan again, and Alfred didn't have the will to argue. _“Very_ good boy. You came nicely, didn't you?”

Alfred shamefully turned to stare at the wall. He tried not to acknowledge the second click of dopamine when Ivan administered it.

“Don't be sad,” said Ivan. Alfred shifted uncomfortably as he rinsed away what sperm remained, then set the shower head back where it belonged. “Being a good pet feels amazing, doesn't it?”

It was difficult for Alfred to express what he was feeling in words. How could one hope to describe the disconnect between his body and mind? His muscles were relaxed, and post-orgasmic satisfaction hung over him like a veil, but it didn't help to ease the sense of violation. There hadn't been any penetration, but he could still _feel_ where Ivan's hand had stroked him, and no amount of rinsing could wash that away.

“You're sick,” whispered Alfred.

“Oh, my poor little pet,” sighed Ivan. “You'll get used to it in time, I promise. Now open wide. Your teeth haven't been brushed in over twenty-four hours, and you wouldn't want to get cavities. Remember, you'll regret trying to bite me or break the toothbrush.”

Ivan pulled a blue toothbrush from a slotted shelf and coated the bristles with a minty green paste from a nearby tube. Though it was almost physically painful to accept it without a fight, Alfred opened his mouth, and Ivan immediately got to work scrubbing away all of the food and bacteria that had accumulated since they'd last been cleaned.

“There's almost nothing in here,” noted Ivan, intrigued. “But then, you don't really chew your food, do you?”

Alfred said nothing, but numbly registered how strange it felt to have somebody else plunging a brush in and out of his mouth. It sort of reminded him of the dentist, only worse in every conceivable way.

“There we go! You can just spit that out all over your chest. It'll rinse away,” said Ivan, and Alfred didn't need to be told twice.

Ivan held the toothbrush up to the running water to rinse all of the frothy paste off. What Alfred found odd, however, was the fact that instead of putting it back, he applied another glob of toothpaste. Had the first round not been enough? Was he such a stickler for proper oral hygiene that he really intended to brush Alfred's teeth for a second-

Without another word, Ivan stuck the brush into his _own_ mouth and began to brush.

“You're disgusting,” said Alfred through clenched teeth. He was too horrified to ask whether or not it had at least been a fresh, straight-from-the-package brush. The thought of having just had _Ivan's_ toothbrush in his mouth was just too much to consider, on top of everything else that had transpired.

“You may actually have a point about this one,” said Ivan through a mouthful of froth, but from his smiling eyes, it was clear that he didn't really give a fuck. He brushed for several moments more, the spat unceremoniously to the floor. “Mm! Not quite as good as a _direct_ kiss, but it beats having my lips ripped off for trying that a second time.”

“Go right ahead. Stick your tongue in, even!” said Alfred vindictively.

“Do I really look stupid enough to fall for that?” said Ivan. He set the toothbrush aside. “If I'm to die, it's not going to be of blood loss through my severed tongue. That's terribly boring.”

“Oh, I can give you a _much_ better death than _that._ Get my arms out of these, and I'll show you your intestines.”

“Disembowelment? That's the best you can come up with?”

“Not even close,” said Alfred. “I was thinking I would shove your eyes down your throat.”

Somehow, that statement only seemed to excite his captor further, as it elicited an amused laugh.

“You poor, silly thing.”

Alfred shrank back in his restraining device when Ivan retrieved a triple-bladed razor from the shelf, removed the lid, and extended it towards him. The logical part of Alfred's mind screamed that he wouldn't slit his throat over such an empty threat after all the money that must have been spent on him, but the emotional side didn't want Ivan holding anything even remotely sharp up to his throat.

“Don't you know?” said Ivan. The razor was getting dangerously close to Alfred's face. “When you cut out somebody's eyes, they can't see anymore.”

Wait. _That_ was his issue with it?

“Now hold still,” said Ivan. “You haven't had a good shave since we brought you in, and I don't think you'd look good with a beard.”

“I look fan-freaking-tastic with a beard, thank you very much,” said Alfred. He couldn't stand the thought of Ivan dragging a freaking razor down his face and neck. Even getting _touched_ again would have been preferable!

“Oh, really? Because Kiku told me that you're as scraggly as a prepubescent teenager,” teased Ivan.

Of _course_ he had.

Alfred would have loved to make a snarky comeback, but the moment the blade touched down about his face, his whole body went deathly still. With someone as crazy as Ivan, it could only be a single, fleeting whim that prompted him to impulsively jerk the blade sideways, slicing open his jugular in the process.

 _Shlick, shlick,_ wipe. _Shlick, shlick,_ wipe. Tiny hairs so blonde that they were barely visible were sliced off and wiped away in an uncomfortable, alternating pattern of anxiety and relief. Every time the blade was pressed against his flesh, his heartbeat sped up, and sweat dripped from his forehead, not that it was visible amongst all of the spray from the shower. Occasionally, Ivan would murmur a few words of praise for his stillness, but Alfred was too busy focusing on the razor to pay them any heed.

So it continued until every last hair had been removed from his face and neck, and Alfred finally allowed himself to relax.

“Perfect!” said Ivan. He gave Alfred's cheek a quick stroke to inspect his work. “As smooth as a baby's bottom!”

“Go rot in a pit,” spat Alfred.

“Oh?” said Ivan. “Don't you want me to do the rest? It seems that you prefer it shaved.”

“What else is there to sh-”

It was then that Alfred noticed that Ivan's eyes had moved down to his crotch.

“Th-the hair there is just naturally thin,” lied Alfred. Damn it. He'd never even considered that he would be stuck trying to explain away his grooming habits.

“There's no shame in trimming,” said Ivan, and before Alfred got the chance to protest further, he'd brought the razor down to cut away the hair that had started to grow back in above his sex. “I'd like to see you fully waxed, to tell you the truth. You have such nice muscles, and they deserve to be emphasized, don't you think?”

Alfred was _not_ in the mood to hear Ivan's assessment of his body hair, but the fear of the blade being so close to his manhood was almost as great as when it had been at his neck, and he kept quiet as the area around it was returned to smoothness.

He didn't particularly care if Ivan noticed his sigh of relief when the razor was finally put away. It was getting to the point where he hardly cared about _anything_ that Ivan saw of him.

 _I want to go home,_ he thought.

“Good boy. Let's get you back home to your kennel, shall we? If you behave, I'll read you a story! Won't that be nice?”

Alfred didn't answer.

 

* * *

 

Kiku winced as the light was aimed straight into his eyes. His wrists were shackled to the desk, where Arthur sat across from him. Francis stood at his side, while a man with a ponytail of dreadlocks stood guard at the door. His name was  Máximo, as Kiku had learned from all of Alfred's rants about him. He got along pretty well with Matthew, he'd heard, but Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

“So, Honda,” said Arthur coolly. “If that's even your real name!”

As always, Kiku's face was unchanging, and he answered calmly, with as few words as possible.

“It is.”

“Not that it matters, of course,” said Arthur. “Of all the words I intend to inscribe on your grave, your name isn't one of them.”

It wasn't a question, so Kiku had nothing to say.

“Let's get down to business, Arthur,” said Francis.

“I was getting to that!” snapped Arthur. “Okay,  _ Honda.  _ Who are you working for?”

“Spymaster Wang Yao,” said Kiku.

“And we're just supposed to trust that you're telling the truth?”

“It would make sense,” said Francis thoughtfully.

“He's a  _ spy!”  _ argued Arthur. “He'll say anything if he thinks it's going to help him!”

“I've agreed to cooperate,” said Kiku. “I will answer any questions you have to the best of my knowledge.”

“He  _ did  _ willingly out himself to us,” said Francis.

Arthur slammed his fist down on the desk. He grabbed Francis by the tie and pulled his face in close.

“Arthur, calm yourself,” said Francis.

“This man is the reason that  _ Alfred was nearly killed!”  _ said Arthur venomously. “This man is the reason that he's being  _ tortured!” _

“Prince Ivan has no plans to torture Alfred for information,” said Kiku.

Arthur's released Francis' tie in favor of leaning over the desk to leer down at Kiku.

“No plans to torture him for information?” said Arthur. “Is that so? Francis, the video!”

“Arthur, you shouldn't-”

_ “Play the fucking video.” _

Francis reluctantly reached down into his pocket to retrieve his phone. After a few swipes, he turned the screen towards Kiku, turned up the volume, and touched the play button.

What appeared were several shots of a massive, high-tech device with numerous arms tipped with all sorts of surgical implements. Kiku swallowed the growing lump in his throat; he knew  _ exactly  _ what that was.

_ “The Automated Surgical Pro is the latest in a series of rapid advancements in medical technology funded by Wyv! Its laser-incision technology is quick, accurate, and leads to almost no lasting scars!”  _ said a very commercial-esque woman's voice.

An image of an unconscious primate with a tumor the size of its head popped up on the screen. It would have been rather disgusting, were it not for the fact that Kiku had been desensitized to such things long ago.

_ “This chimpanzee was given a series of treatments to induce the growth of a benign tumor. Despite its proximity to numerous organs, the ASP removes it without causing any unnecessary damage, and no further surgery will be required.” _

The lasers sliced through flesh and cut out the tumor with impressive speed and accuracy. It was bloody, and possibly animal cruelty, but Kiku knew that Arthur hadn't insisted on showing it to him because of the chimpanzee.

An image of Alfred popped up on the screen. Kiku didn't visibly respond to seeing him struggle to break free, not even as an image of his face appeared looking completely terror-stricken. If he knew Alfred as well as he thought he did, there had probably been a lot more angry shouting involved, but he knew that the capital had nothing to gain from showing his defiant moments. The editor had probably been careful to only include the moments where he lost the brave face.

_ “The most recent test-run of the device was also the first to be performed on a live human being! The subject, a convicted criminal guilty of treason, has been provided no anesthesia for the procedure, allowing him to struggle freely as the device is implanted. Despite his constant motion, the incision is perfectly straight.” _

The video went on to display a laser cutting into Alfred's back. Though the noises had been muted, Kiku could tell by the way he shook and jerked around that Alfred had probably been screaming.

Francis turned off the video.

“That,” said Arthur in a tone acidic enough to corrode a tank, “was a recent infomercial broadcast approximately two hours ago. So, why don't you be a dear and tell me again that Alfred isn't being tortured for information.”

“It's not for information,” said Kiku. “Any pain the prince inflicts is punishment.”

Francis' hand clenched into a fist. “So he's just being perpetually tortured, then?”

Before Arthur could break his jaw, Kiku hastily amended his answer.

“It's not punishment for the rebellion,” said Kiku. For once, a crack formed in his perfect poker face. “Please, allow me to explain.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, expectant. “Go ahead, then.  _ Enlighten  _ me.”

“You see,” said Kiku, unsure of just how he ought to begin. He knew he had to choose his words carefully, because Arthur was about ready to lose it. If he were to die, or otherwise be rendered unable to give further information, they would be at a disadvantage. “The prince, he's, ah,  _ enamored  _ with Alfred.”

“Excuse me?” said Arthur. Francis, too, was somewhat taken aback.

“From the beginning, he made it very clear that Alfred was to be taken alive, and attacks were not to begin in earnest until he was safe inside the helicopter,” explained Kiku. “The prince, err, he enjoys bending people to his will, you see. The moment he got involved in the capture operations a few months ago, our objective went from Alfred's execution to his, well, 'reeducation.' The official justification is to make an example of him, but the truth is that Ivan intends to train him as a concubine.”

In that moment, Arthur and Francis went very,  _ very  _ pale. Despite their rocky relationship, even Máximo looked disgusted. Arthur himself placed his hand over his mouth and sat back down, as though he were about to be sick.

“So you're telling me that the bastard  _ raped  _ him?” said Arthur shakily.

Kiku cast his eyes downwards. “It's a possibility, but I doubt that it's happened quite yet. He's, ah, meticulous about these things.”

“Oh my God,” was all Francis could say.

“And what about the torture?” demanded Arthur.

“The prince has decided to use torture as a means of 'punishment' for 'misbehavior.' That is to say, he's given Alfred a set of rules to follow, and administers a set amount of various tortures when he disobeys,” said Kiku. “If you'd like, I can give you my security pass so you can download the full details from the server. You'll want to use my laptop, though, or they might realize it's somebody else.”

“And why, pray tell, are you suddenly so keen on sharing this information?” demanded Arthur.

Kiku shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes focused on the handcuffs attached to his wrists.

“I'm uncertain, myself,” he admitted. “I have befriended and betrayed innumerable people in the past, and not once have I felt any measure of guilt. Mr. Jones, however... Well, it's been very difficult from the beginning.”

“Too stubborn to give you the information you were asking for?” asked Francis dryly.

“On the contrary,” said Kiku, “Mr. Jones was perhaps the easiest mark I've ever had. I had only been serving alongside him for a week when I got the information that had been requested of me by Spymaster Yao. I would gently probe him for some important secret, and come out knowing all of his favorite flavors of ice cream.”

Arthur exhaled. “That gullible  _ idiot.” _

“It was strange,” continued Kiku of his own volition, without being prompted by another question. “He told me so many things, most of them meaningless. What kinds of flowers he liked, or how he felt about his latest video game purchase. What he hoped to do in the future, and all of the things he was secretly afraid of.”

“So why, then? Why are you changing sides?” asked Francis.

For one long moment, Kiku silently contemplated his answer.

“Those conversations we had,” he said at last.

“What about them?” snarled Arthur.

Kiku frowned.

“I truly enjoyed them.”


	8. Story Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, a lot of comments were made on the last chapter, and that's all well and good, but there was also a little bit of fighting. Without pointing fingers at anyone, let's all try to put that behind us and remember that this is all just fiction, okay? :3 I don't think anyone actually thinks that any of what's going on right now is particularly ethical. Like, at all. If I 'defend' anything that the characters are doing in the comments, it's only as a joke. I apologize if that isn't how it came across. Anyway, now that that little announcement is out of the way, on with the next chapter!

Alfred just wanted him to go away.

“Once upon a time,” began Ivan, but Alfred was quick to interrupt.

“You don't even have a book in your arms.”

“And why would I?” said Ivan. He shifted in his chair and rubbed his hair with a towel. “I know this one by heart!”

In other words, he would have no way of knowing how close he was to the end. Alfred threw his damp head back against the pillow and groaned.

“Ahem! As I was saying, once upon a time, there was a tiny prince in a big,  _big_ castle.”

“Why do fairy tales always star royalty, long-lost royalty, or people getting married to freaking royalty?” said Alfred. “Is royalty the only ticket to happiness?”

“You're taking this far too seriously,” said Ivan. “Anyway, the prince was a very lonely boy. As the middle child, his older sibling was being trained to take the throne, and the younger one had very, err,  _different_ interests. There were no other children in the castle, so most of the time, he was left to play by himself. The prince got any toy he wanted, of course, but what use was it when he had no one to enjoy them with?”

“Arrange a playdate with some noble's kid,” suggested Alfred.

“If you'd let me finish, you'd know that the other nobles were too afraid of the king's harsh rules to bring their children over to play,” said Ivan. “Without a friend in the world, the prince decided to steal a satchel of gold and run away. He took a bus-”

“A bus in a fairy tale?”

“Excuse me, a  _carriage,”_ corrected Ivan swiftly. “My apologies, this is quite an old story. So the prince took a carriage out of the capital, and into one of the surrounding towns.”

“And fell in love with a peasant, got married, yaddah yaddah yaddah.”

Ivan laughed as though he'd said something funny.

“The prince was twelve years old, Alfred.”

Well, that just lent itself to a bit of a plot hole, didn't it? Ordinarily, Alfred was content to ignore them, but in a story told by Ivan, he wasn't just going to let it slide.

“And what kind of a carriage driver lets some random kid on their own ride all the way out of town, anyway?” said Alfred.

“A drunk one who doesn't care about much of anything anymore,” answered Ivan easily. “You should know from experience just how little some people care about the well-being of children.”

Alfred winced. Fair enough.

“Wow,” said Alfred. “Talk about depressing. This is one of those old, original versions, isn't it? Like that story about the angel that gave up her wings to be with her prince. The animated cartoon version defeated the demon that she made the deal with and got to stay a human, but the original went to Hell.”

“Hm? And which do you prefer, Alfred?”

“The cartoon one, obviously,” said Alfred easily. “Everyone gets what they want.”

“Except the demon, of course,” said Ivan. He thoughtfully scratched his chin. “She was very clear about the terms of the contract, and the angel still signed. Should she not be held to her end of the bargain?”

“Aha!” said Alfred, shooting up to sit on his knees. It was time for those law lessons from Matthew to come in handy! And to think, he'd always gotten so  _pissed_ at his brother for his terrible habit of poking holes in the plotlines of all of his favorite movies. Finally, it was  _his_ turn! “The contract should have been voided the moment that the demon started taking action to ensure that it didn't come true! Contracts are made with the understanding that both parties want to see them fulfilled. Unless it's explicitly stated in the terms of the agreement, you can't just maliciously sabotage the other party in order to invoke a penalty!” Boom, checkmate!

Ivan clapped his hands and smiled, but he did it in that patronizing way of his, like a parent applauding the scribbles of a child. He even gave Alfred a click of that nice, fuzzy feeling for his efforts.

“Well done! I'm very impressed! There's only one problem with your argument,” said Ivan.

“And what's that?” demanded Alfred.

“The demon didn't actually sabotage her in the original story,” said Ivan. “The other woman that the prince ended up falling in love with was just another random human.”

In the grand scheme of things, it was only a tiny loss, but it stung Alfred's pride all the same. He wrinkled his nose and flopped back down on the dog bed.

“Oh, don't be so hard on yourself!” said Ivan. “It was a good try! But let's get back to the story I was telling, shall we?”

Alfred rolled his eyes.

“So the prince took a carriage to a surrounding town, but he quickly realized that he had no idea what it was that he was doing,” said Ivan. “Not only was he a child, but he'd grown up isolated from the world and its troubles. His pricey clothing caused him to stand out among the peasants, and when night fell, he was beaten senseless and robbed of all his possessions!”

“Is this the kind of cautionary bullcrap that they tell  _all_ the little noble brats?” said Alfred, but Ivan ignored him.

“Naked and afraid, the prince retreated to an alleyway, where he met a very nice man. This person gave him food, clothing, and even offered him a place to stay. Naive as he was, the prince eagerly accepted the offer, and for a few weeks, he lived with this person, who taught him all about the harshness of the world outside the castle walls. Despite the situation, he maintained an optimistic outlook. The man who'd taken him in appeared to have done so purely out of the kindness of his heart, and the prince chose to believe that all humans could be just as selfless, if they only had the means. The people who had beaten him for his gold and clothing, he thought, surely only did so out of desperation, and not out of malice.”

Alfred winced. Even  _he_ wasn't  _that_ idealistic. No matter how you sliced it, beating up an eight-year-old hadn't been at all necessary. Desperate or not, they could have robbed a small, weak child without harming a hair on his head. Some people were just douchebags. Like Ivan!

“Things went very well for a time, and though life wasn't as luxurious as back in the castle, the prince was happy,” said Ivan. “But that all changed when the man who took him in told him that he needed to start earning his keep.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, I think I see where this is going,” said Alfred. Damn it, if Ivan wanted to tell him a story so badly, couldn't he at least choose a happy one?

“And so, the man that the prince had thought so kind began selling him for money,” said Ivan, still wearing his eerie smile. “On and on it went, day in and day out. When he tried to run away, the prince was punished harshly with a knife, leaving terrible scars.”

“This is the most miserable story I've ever heard!”

“Don't fret, Alfred, it has a happy ending,” said Ivan. “For you see, the prince was still a  _prince,_ and the royal family had sent out several search parties and investigators to find him. One day, a hooded man entered the building with a pouch full of coin, as many customers had before him. When the prince's captor brought him out, nude and shivering, the hooded man chopped the villain's arm off and pulled the prince into a big hug! It was the king, himself!”

“Great story,” said Alfred flatly. “Are you done yet?”

“Almost!” said Ivan. “The prince and the villain were both brought back to the castle. Despite the situation, the prince found himself harboring no ill will. After all, he was the one who had so foolishly trusted the man, had he not? It was simply the way of the world, and he had been too silly to see it! Humans were ugly, selfish creatures, and if you wanted happiness, you just had to take it by force!”

“What kind of a messed up moral  _is_ this?”

“So he decided to take  _his_ happiness back from the villain who'd betrayed him!” said Ivan. “At his execution, the prince had him tied down so that he could  _personally_ beat his skull in with a metal pipe.”

“Yeah, okay, this is really,  _really_ twisted.”

“And from that point on, the prince was wise to the ways of the world, and never thought foolish, naïve things about humanity ever again!” concluded Ivan. “The end!”

“If that's the kind of story that you were raised on,” said Alfred flatly, “then it's no wonder you're so messed up. What the heck? It sucks that he had such awful luck, but not  _all_ people are horrible!”

“Of course they are,” said Ivan. “They're just not always horrible to the same people! Tell me, Alfred, who do you think isn't horrible?”

“Matthew,” said Alfred immediately.

“Ah, yes, your twin,” said Ivan. His hands pressed together. “But he's a soldier, same as you. You've both killed many, have you not?”

Uhg. Not that again. Why couldn't any of them understand? They killed for  _good!_

“That doesn't make either of us horrible!”

“To your side, no,” said Ivan. “But Alfred, do you know why almost nobody in this castle feels bad about what you're going through right now?”

“Because they've been brainwashed into thinking it's okay?” spat Alfred.

Ivan closed his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head.

“Oh, Alfred. Alfred, Alfred,  _Alfred._ Do you even know who Eduard and Raivis are?”

“Annoying?”

“They're both the children of some of the finest soldiers in the nation,” said Ivan.

“Oh, I get it, now. They got their promotions 'cause of mommy and daddy!” said Alfred mockingly.

Ivan opened his eyes and smiled. Not the irritating, patronizing one, but the  _terrifying_ one that made it feel as though he were cloaked in an aura of his own unspeakable evil.

“Well,” added Ivan.  _“Former_ finest, anyway.”

There was a sinking sensation in the pit of Alfred's stomach as he finally registered exactly what Ivan was getting at.

“Oh, yes, it's all starting to come back to you, isn't it?” said Ivan. “Your claim to fame at Echo Valley, that is.”

_“No!” screamed a woman in enemy uniform as she was grabbed by the hair and dragged behind a boulder._

_He only had so much ammo left. Rather than waste a bullet shooting her, he plunged his bayonet deep into her chest. In her struggling, however, the blade missed her vitals. Driven by adrenaline, he stabbed her repeatedly, until her ear-splitting screams finally died down._

_“Oh, God, someone help me!” she sobbed._

_Alfred slashed the bayonet across her throat to silence her, then peeked out from behind his cover._

_BANG! BANG!_

_In two quick shots, another pair of enemy soldiers dropped to the ground. The dying one beside him grasped desperately at his ankle in a last ditch effort to throw him off, but he stomped on her wrist. It broke with a loud crack._

“I did what I had to do,” said Alfred slowly.

“I know,” said Ivan. “I don't blame you. But neither should you blame those two for being unsympathetic, don't you think? What if someone were to kill Matthew in the same way that you wiped out that platoon, hm? Would you care if they were tortured?”

Alfred opened his mouth to argue. He wanted to say 'yes.' He wanted to say 'nobody should have to go through this.' He wanted to say 'I wouldn't allow this to happen to the worst villain the world had ever seen.'

But he couldn't.

That would have been a lie.

And he was a bad liar.

Alfred would have killed such a person in the most gruesome way imaginable.

“You've made as many enemies as you've made friends,” said Ivan. “Possibly more. Not all soldiers have families working in the castle, after all. Many of them have civilian relatives. Bakers, grocers, farmers, doctors... You've killed countless people, Alfred, but did you ever think of the families that they left behind?”

_“I did what I had to do!”_ he said again, more forcefully.

“I  _know,_ pet, I  _know,”_ said Ivan softly. “But so did my soldiers. Every friend that you've lost were just my people doing what they had to do.”

“They were fighting to uphold an oppressive regime!”

“They were working to feed their families,” said Ivan. He retrieved his phone from his pocket. “They were fighting to protect them from the rebellion.”

“People don't need protection  _from_ the rebellion!”

Ivan swiped several times across the screen of his phone.

“Let's see, where is it?” he murmured. “Oh, here it is! The civilian casualty tally since the rebellion began!”

“Go ahead! Whatever number you have is probably false, anyway!”

“Two thousand, four hundred seventy-eight,” read Ivan. “They died of various causes, of course. Some as a byproduct of bombs, some by stray bullets, some from starvation when their farms caught fire. Many more were pressed into conscription in order to be allowed access to food.”

“That's a lie!” said Alfred. “Arthur and Francis never would have allowed that to happen!”

“Arthur and Francis don't have direct control over everything their underlings do any more than the king can directly control his vassals,” said Ivan. “I don't doubt their good intentions, but when any organization gets too large, the seeds of corruption begin to spread.”

“And that corruption can be rooted out!”

“But has it been?” asked Ivan. “Similar statistics were posted six months ago, and it seems no progress has been made on that front.

“It'll be fixed!” said Alfred. He slammed his fist against the bars. “We're not like you! Not even close! You're just trying to turn me against my friends. It's not gonna work!”

The look on Ivan's face was  _still_ one of complete adoration. Alfred wasn't sure just how much angrier it was possible for him to get, but Ivan was doing his fucking best to make him erupt into a volcano of everlasting rage.

“Aww,” said Ivan.

“Don't say it,” said Alfred.  _“Don't you dare say it!”_

Ivan smirked. “How  _cute!”_

And with that, Alfred snapped.

Screaming with fury, he charged towards the cage door like he'd been possessed by a demon and slammed his fists repeatedly against the bars. They shook slightly, but each punch was doing significantly more damage to his hands than his prison. The pain in every strike only maddened him further, until he completely lost sight of what he'd been trying to accomplish in the first place.

_“I'm gonna kill you!”_ he roared. “I. WILL. KILL. YOU!”

“I get that a lot,” said Ivan. “You're very strong, Alfred, but you're not going to break out of that cage. It's sturdy enough to contain an elephant. Well, if an elephant were small enough to fit, that is.”

It didn't make a difference whether or not it was hopeless. Alfred was too pissed off to care. He needed some semblance of relief, and he didn't mind if it meant a series of crisscrossing bruises all over his knuckles.

_Click!_

He dropped to the floor.

“I'm sorry, pet, but I can't have you shattering your hands,” said Ivan. He opened up the cage door and pulled Alfred back over to his bed. The kiss that he pressed to Alfred's forehead made him shudder. “If you try something like that again, I'll put you in a straitjacket for the rest of the night, understand?”

“But-”

“No buts,” said Ivan firmly. “I'm only doing what's best for you.”

“You don't care about what's best for me!” said Alfred. “You just take what you want!”

“And I want what's best for you!”

Alfred growled furiously and snapped his jaws at Ivan's scarf. For once, fortune seemed to smile on him; he sank his teeth into the fabric and refused to let go. When Ivan pinched his nose, he only flared his lips to breathe through his teeth.

“You can't win this, Alfred,” said Ivan impatiently. His smile had vanished. “Let go of my scarf.”

Alfred shook his head as much as he was able.

“Pet,” said Ivan. He made it a point to wave the remote in Alfred's face. “I'm going to be nice and give you until the count of three, okay?  _Let go of my scarf.”_

No. He couldn't. He knew that it wasn't getting him anywhere – he didn't have the leverage to try and choke Ivan with it – but it was  _something._

“One.”

_He's just going to torture you again. Let go._

“Two.”

Alfred closed his eyes and grudgingly relaxed his grip, allowing Ivan to slide the scarf out of his mouth.

“Good pet!” said Ivan. Once more, he patted Alfred on the head.

“It tasted like crap, anyway!” said Alfred.

“Of course. Fabric is inedible, silly!” said Ivan.

There he went again, constantly calling his actions 'silly' or 'cute.' In many ways, Alfred would have preferred a more extreme reaction, because the dismissive responses were just unbearable. Ivan was treating him as though he weren't even worth the time it would take to get angry, and it was pissing him off! He'd been pretty freaking terrifying when he'd gotten angry at Eduard and Raivis, so he was certainly  _capable_ of rage.

“Why won't you get angry at me?” asked Alfred, his voice a little more desperate than he would have liked. “Why won't you  _yell_ at me?”

“Hm? Why  _should_ I? Do you want me to?” said Ivan, giggling. He exited the cage and shut the door firmly behind him. “You're just an untrained pet who needs punishment to discourage bad behavior.”

“I'm a human being!” said Alfred as soon as he was able to move again. He got to his feet and marched back over to the bars that Ivan was standing on the other side of. “I'm not some animal!”

“Hm? Are you sure it's not just because you crave some validation that your efforts are bothering me?” said Ivan. “Because they aren't. You must remember, dearest pet, that I went into this fully expecting you to be dangerous and uncooperative. To be angry about you being exactly what I expected would be pointless. Besides, shouting at dogs only makes them bark louder.”

“Oh, so I'm a dog now?” said Alfred. “I thought I was just an  _object!”_

Ivan pressed his hand to his forehead. “You're really determined to get out of this on semantics, aren't you?”

“Isn't that what law is all about?” said Alfred. He was hardly an expert in such things – that was the job of other people – but he'd picked up quite a bit of information from the speeches that Matthew wrote for him. Maybe he didn't fully understand all of its intricacies, but he wasn't just some idiot who didn't understand a word that he was saying!

“Fair enough,” said Ivan. “Very well, let me make this simple for you. You are an  _object,_ understand? An object that I have very kindly allowed to keep your name and address with human pronouns. Know this, pet. I treat you well and protect you out of mercy. Do you even understand the full implications of your position?”

“That you're allowed to be a freaking molester with no repercussions!”

“Okay, it's quiz time,” said Ivan. “What is the crime of attacking someone on the street?”

Alfred snickered. Was Ivan really trying to trip him up with such easy questions? “Assault and battery.”

“That's right!” said Ivan. “What's the crime of smashing a lawn ornament?”

“Vandalism,” said Alfred. Ivan was going to have to try harder than that.

“Good pet! What's the crime of capturing an innocent and confining them against their will?”

“Kidnapping, duh.”

“And what about taking something that doesn't belong to you?”

“Theft,” said Alfred. “Where are you going with this? Do you really think I'm THAT stupid?”

“I'm asking you to put the pieces together, Alfred,” said Ivan. “Similar acts are treated with less seriousness when you perform them on an object, rather than a person. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?”

Alfred furrowed his brow in thought, but before he could answer, Ivan decided to explain.

“I'm saying that if someone within this castle were to kill you, they could probably get off on a vandalism charge,” said Ivan. “Well, it would be a  _little_ more complicated than that, of course. I would probably have someone 'appraise' your value at a high number in order to increase the penalty, something I've made very clear to the staff in order to discourage it, but it would never be treated like a murder case. Do you understand? This is the price to be paid for your continued existence. Objects can't commit crimes, meaning you can no longer be charged for your numerous transgressions, but you  _belong_ to me, and I can do whatever I want to you without penalty. You should be thankful for the kindness that I've showed you up until now.”

“Kindness? What kindness?”

“I didn't have to give you a cage, pet,” said Ivan. “I didn't have to provide you with any means of acquiring clothes. If I were truly cruel, do you know what I would do?”

Alfred shrank back. Ivan didn't seem angry, but his smile was far wider than normal, and it was really creeping him out.

“I could cut off your arms and legs so you couldn't move,” said Ivan. “I could paralyze the muscles of your jaw so you couldn't bite. I could operate on your vocal cords so you couldn't speak. I could lobotomize you, and turn up your pleasure sensitivity until sex was all you could ever think about. You would be a  _true_ object, then; a pleasure toy masquerading as a person, eternally tormented except for those few, wonderful moments when you were  _used._ Is that what you want, Alfred?”

Alfred hadn't realized how much he was shaking until Ivan prompted him for a response. Such a fate sounded worse than Hell itself! Who even came up with such awful things?

Shit. Ivan was still waiting expectantly for a reply.

“N-no.”

“No, what?”

Alfred gripped the bars behind him that he hadn't even noticed his back had been pressed up against.

“No, master.”

“Oh, poor pet!” said Ivan, his smile vanishing. “Don't be scared. I would never do that to you, I promise!”

' _Then why the fuck would you even bring it up?'_ Alfred wanted to scream, but he held his tongue. Ivan was in a strange mood, and he couldn't afford to tempt fate.

“Well, with all of that in mind...” said Ivan. “Alfred, sit!”

Alfred lowered himself to his knees, his eyes locked with Ivan's. There was still a nagging fear that he would suddenly pull out a knife and hack his limbs off.

“Good boy!” praised Ivan, and not even the dopamine was enough to make Alfred feel any better.

Ivan got to his feet and turned around, adjusting his scarf as he did so. For a moment, Alfred allowed himself to hope that he was going away, but instead, he unlocked the bookshelf with a swipe of his thumb and removed one of the novels within. With the book in hand, he sat back down in the chair he'd occupied only moments before and opened it to the first page.

“I have a story I think you'll like a little more than the last one,” said Ivan. “I haven't gotten a chance to read it yet, but it's by one of my favorite authors.”

Great. It was probably some piece of super old, classical literature that only snobs would enjoy. He hated those kinds of books. All of the words were strung together in such ways that it almost felt like a different language.

“I've been needing a nap,” muttered Alfred. He made himself comfortable in the bed.

“Aww, don't be that way!” said Ivan, disappointed. “Surely you've read some of her works. What about  _Little Invader?”_

Alfred perked up at the mention of that name. There was no way... “Wait, book? Wasn't that a movie?”

“Well,” said Ivan, sounding disappointed. “It was based on a book. The movie didn't explore the inner workings of Tony's home planet nearly as well as the novel did.”

“Hang on, so what's this book about?” asked Alfred, though he hesitated to show too much interest.

“It's the prequel for the series,” said Ivan. “It goes into how Tony met the Star Whale!”

Alfred sprang to his knees, his eyes shining with intrigue. He'd always wanted to learn more about Star Whale, but the movies never brought it up!

Still, there was something about the situation that just felt incredibly  _wrong._ It turned out that it was a story he was actually interested in, yes, but it was still  _Ivan_ that was telling it. The very same Ivan that had captured him, surgically implanted some weird device in his body without anesthesia, tortured him, and molested him in the shower.

_With all he's done – all that he still intends to do – am I really going to just sit here and let him read to me?_ thought Alfred.

Ha. As though he even had anywhere else that he could go.

“I guess I don't really have a choice,” said Alfred at last.

“Excellent! Now that I have your undivided attention, I suppose I can begin!” said Ivan cheerfully. “Ahem!  _Tony had always been entranced by the beauty of the stars...”_

 

* * *

 

“Why did you do it?” asked Máximo.

Kiku continued to sit quietly inside of his cell. Occasionally, he took a sip of water from the bottle that had been provided, but for the most part, he just stared into the cement wall opposite him.

“I mean, I didn't like him, but I wouldn't have wanted  _this!”_ said Máximo. “And what about Matthew? Do you know how much you hurt him?”

The silence was deafening. Máximo clenched his fists.

“You said you enjoyed talking to him,” said Máximo. “And by God, I can't imagine why! But you actually liked him, and you  _still_ did something that I would never think to do in a million years! Not just because of how it hurt the rebellion, but because I'm a decent person!”

Kiku shifted slightly, and the chain attached to his ankle jingled, but it was impossible to tell whether he was actually paying attention, or just adjusting his position.

Máximo shook his head and turned back towards the door. There was a reason he was posted there, and it wasn't because they were worried about Kiku getting out. His betrayal had been kept on the down-low, for the most part – even Gilbert, resident gossip, had managed to keep his trap shut about it – but in the unlikely event that the information was made widely available, someone had to be there to keep him from getting lynched. Traitor or not, he still held a lot of value to the rebellion, both as a source of information, and as leverage.

“If we lose and I get executed all because that asshole isn't here to make the gullible masses feel good about themselves, I swear that I'm going to haunt you. And when you die, I'm going to beat up your ghost.”

_That,_ at least, got a response. Kiku covered his mouth. Initially, Máximo thought that he was about to cry or get sick. A tiny noise came out, and Máximo recognized it as the faintest hint of a laugh.

“I apologize,” said Kiku quickly. “It's just, that sounds a little like something he might have said...”

Much as Máximo didn't want to hear that sort of a thing, he was a bit too surprised by the fact that Kiku was actually capable of laughter to care about being told that he'd just talked like Alfred. Since when did he actually show emotion?

Before he could interrogate Kiku as to how he'd managed to grow an actual soul in the span of about thirty seconds, there was a knock on the door that Máximo had been ordered to guard.

“Password,” he called.

“Glory by fulfillment,” said a voice that immediately set Máximo on edge.

“I'm not sure you should be here, Matthew,” said Máximo.

“I'm exactly where I need to be, Max,” said Matthew.

There wasn't anything to be done for it. He'd said the pass phrase, so Máximo opened the door.

Matthew stepped inside looking sweaty and haggard. Bandages were wrapped around several parts of his body, but the most noticeable ones were the ones on his knuckles. Matthew  _never_ trained so hard that he actually injured himself, so it was a startling sight. He'd always been keenly aware of his own limits in the past, making for far fewer blood splatters than his brash twin.

“Matthew,” said Máximo, sounding concerned. Were it not for the hair and eyes, he looked more like Alfred than ever, and it was disconcerting. Surely he wasn't there for revenge! “Are you-”

“I'm fine,” said Matthew, and when Máximo looked into his eyes, he knew it was true. There was anger in them, to be sure, but there were also overtones of acceptance. He was still upset, but he'd calmed down significantly. “If I'm going to save Alfred, we have to think with our heads, not our hearts.”

He turned to Kiku, who avoided eye contact.

“Kiku,” addressed Matthew. “Our best hope of doing this is to get somebody on the inside.”

“I can provide you with a letter of recommendation,” said Kiku. “It has to be someone they don't know, though. Be sure to search the database of known rebels to-”

“It's going to take forever to get someone promoted to that level,” interrupted Matthew. “As much as it physically pains me to say this, it has to be  _you.”_

Both Kiku and Máximo gasped in unison.

“What are you talking about?” said Máximo. “He sold out Alfred, and he'll sell us out, too!”

“He regrets what he did,” said Matthew. “Isn't that right, Kiku?”

Kiku nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“But-” began Máximo.

“It's not like we aren't taking precautions,” said Matthew. “I've already developed a plan. Kiku will be implanted with a GPS transmitter, as well as some  _other_ safeguards to keep him from changing his mind again. Are these terms agreeable?”

Again, Kiku nodded. “I understand.”

“This is insane!” said Máximo. “He can't be trusted!”

“Be that as it may, we don't have much choice,” said Matthew. “If Kiku has given his consent, then get the handcuffs on. We have to prep him for surgery immediately.”

“He'll just have it taken back out again once he gets there!” said Máximo. “I'm not going to stand by and let him hurt you again, Matthew!”

“That's good,” said Matthew, managing a smile. “That makes two of us. Kiku, are you ready?”

Kiku didn't stretch as he stood up. He only approached the door, hands outstretched for the cuffs.

“Yes.”

“Damn it!” growled Máximo. He readied the handcuffs, swung the door open, and slapped them onto Kiku's wrists. Matthew leaned down to undo the chain at his ankle as soon as he was properly secured. “You'd better remember what I said, you hear?”

He hadn't expected an answer, but Kiku provided one.

“I know I can never take back what happened,” said Kiku. “I know that what I did was unforgivable. However, from the point the first boulder struck the building, I regretted the part I played. I only wish that I'd had the courage to say something sooner. Matthew, I promise, I  _will_ bring Alfred back to you, no matter the cost.”

Matthew decked him across the face, and Máximo jumped back in surprise.

“I don't forgive you,” said Matthew slowly. “I might never forgive you. But you could have easily kept this all hidden, and you didn't, so I'm willing to trust that you mean what you say. Don't go getting yourself killed unnecessarily.” His expression hardened. “And don't make me regret arguing with Arthur for two hours straight to convince him to send you in.”

Kiku, who hadn't made a single noise in response to the impact, merely righted his posture.

“I understand.”

 

* * *

 

_“Tony's back was to the wall. He looked left, and he looked right, but there was no escaping the starry figures closing in around him. It was in that moment, devoid of hope, that a massive shadow was cast down from overhead,”_ concluded Ivan. “And so ends chapter three!”

“Yeah, and?” said Alfred, his face practically pressed against the bars. “What was the shadow? How did he get away?”

“Hm? I thought it was pretty obvious. At least, if you've read the books,” said Ivan. Alfred was about to respond with a biting retort, but he wasn't finished speaking just yet. “Now, it's about time to get ready for dinner. Did you want to order something?”

Alfred pulled up the GBM. After being fined in the shower, he only had 160 points left. And to think that he'd worked so hard earlier! How was he ever going to get a pair of pants, let alone enough clothing to form a rope?

Ivan, too, checked his phone, where he could presumably see Alfred's point total for himself.

“So few left!” said Ivan. He tapped the screen a few times, and began typing something in with his thumbs. “Tsk, tsk, tsk! Well, you did well enough in the shower. I think you've earned a little something for that.”

He put his phone away, and a little alert popped up on Alfred's screen.

_'+100 Bonus'_

“Oh,” was all Alfred could think to say.

“Oh? Do you want me to take them back?”

“No!” said Alfred quickly. He needed all the points he could get. It pained him to say it, but if he was going to have a chance, he was going to have to humor Ivan. “Th-th-” Uhg, it felt like he were sticking his fingers down his own throat in order to induce vomiting. “Thank you.”

He still couldn't bring himself to tack on 'master' to the end, but the words seemed to do the trick. Ivan's cheeks had gone bright pink, and he bashfully played with his scarf. Alfred did his best not to gag. Sometimes it seemed like there were two entirely different people in Ivan's head, and he could never tell when the marginally more compassionate one was about to switch places with the psycho.

“You're very welcome,” said Ivan. “Such a good boy you are today!”

Alfred wanted to be annoyed, but when Ivan pressed the reward button on the remote, it was as impossible as ever. Stupid brain. Those emotions weren't even real! Curse human physiology!

Frustrated, but hungry, he scrolled through the menu. Out of sheer curiosity, he took a glance at some of the more expensive options. Most of them were predictable enough; luxury foods, like lobster, cost a few thousand. Whatever beluga caviar was, it certainly wasn't the sort of thing he would pay over one hundred thousand freaking points for a little dollop of.

All that aside, it was a difficult decision to make. His whole plan hinged on him  _not_ eating, but if Ivan thought he was going on a hunger strike, things could turn out badly for him. Either he'd be force-fed something nasty, or he would be tortured until he agreed to eat. The best idea would be to choose something incredibly low in calories. If he wanted something cheap, there was only one option.

Silently bemoaning his fate, he selected a salad of mixed greens with no dressing for fifty points. The next few weeks were really going to suck ass.

“Do you want to come out of your cage to eat with me?” asked Ivan. “I'll give you a nice, soft cushion!”

“I'm doing just fine in here, thanks,” said Alfred. It was a lie, of course. He was most certainly not doing fine. Never before had he considered himself claustrophobic, but he couldn't stand being trapped in such a small space.

It was a little frightening to realize that he actually couldn't wait for the next day to start so he could get out of the cage for chores.

For once, Ivan decided to be respectful of his desire for personal space, and the maids that arrived with food lifted the silver lid off of his salad and slid it through the doggy door.

“Salad?” said Ivan, surprised. “Kiku said that you hated salad.”

“Well, maybe I didn't spill  _everything_ to Kiku!” bluffed Alfred. Oh God, it was like staring into the depths of Hell, if Hell were green and leafy.

Ivan gave him a mildly confused look, but didn't press him for details. A good thing, too, because Alfred quickly realized that he had encountered a new problem.

“Yo. I didn't get a fork,” said Alfred.

“Of course not,” said Ivan. “You aren't allowed to hold anything pointy. Didn't you get a spoon?”

“How am I supposed to eat salad with a spoon?” said Alfred. “Uhg! Whatever!”

He scooped up a single piece of lettuce and shoved it in his mouth. Alfred was immediately beginning to regret his decision. Without a nice, tasty hamburger to be sandwiched between, it tasted like he was eating grass. Everything took forever to chew into mush, and when he swallowed, his stomach still felt empty.

Salads, Alfred decided, were edible misery.

'Dinner' was rather quiet. Alfred didn't talk to Ivan, and Ivan didn't pester Alfred. It would have been kind of nice if he were eating actual food, but instead, he just wished it would end, and Ivan would leave him alone. The day was just dragging on and on, and Alfred just wanted to close his eyes and sleep off the shame and despair.

Alfred pushed the empty plate back through the doggy door – much as he hated salad, he was hungry enough that he'd managed to choke it all down – and, when he was sure Ivan wasn't looking, stole a few gulps of water from the dick-nozzle. Ivan finished up shortly after he did, but Alfred opted to curl up in the dog bed. It was still a humiliating way to spend the night, but at least it was soft, warm, and comfortable.

“Going to sleep already, Alfred?” asked Ivan. “It's hardly even dark yet.”

“And what else am I gonna do?” grumbled Alfred. “Sit in this cage and stare at the wall? I've done all of the chores I can for the day.”

“I could read to you some more.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Alfred was so bored that it was actually a tempting offer. Which, when he thought about it, was probably the exact response Ivan was going for. If he had better things that he could do, then he certainly wouldn't have been doing chores. Most people would have attempted to motivate him strictly through pain, but Ivan was forcing him to do things just so he wasn't stuck staring at the wall all day. Well, pain was also a part of it, but it was the combination of the two that left him in a bind.

And the worst part was that it was  _working._

“I guess,” said Alfred.

It wasn't like it was  _that_ big of a deal, right? He was just listening to a story. If anything, that was just wasting  _Ivan's_ time.

“Good! Now, where were we?” said Ivan, flipping through the pages of the book. “Ah, here we go!  _The creatures surrounding Tony fled into the cracks of the ground, squeezing between the rocks as easily as though they were made of water...”_

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready?” asked Matthew.

Kiku nodded, and the doctor traced her scalpel down his upper arm. It had already been numbed by a local anesthetic, so he felt nothing but a gentle tugging as the skin was parted. Briefly, he watched with a neutral expression, having been long since desensitized to the sight of his own blood. Eventually, though, he turned his gaze back towards Matthew, who was staring down at him from the other side of the operating table.

“That thing going in isn't just a GPS, you know,” said Matthew. “If we find out that you betrayed us again, it'll give you a lethal electric shock.”

“I know,” said Kiku. He'd been informed earlier.

For a time, all were quiet, and the only chatter was between the doctor and nurse as they inserted the tracking device. Kiku stared at the ceiling and allowed his mind to wander, and Matthew simply watched the surgery with an uncertain expression.

“Hey,” said Matthew. “You know you can't tell him, right?”

Kiku blinked.

“Alfred, I mean,” said Matthew, sounding somber. “If you see him, and he knows that you betrayed him, you can't tell him otherwise.”

“I know,” said Kiku again. Alfred wasn't good at keeping secrets. If he knew and believed that Kiku was back on his side, his cover could be blown.

“You can't tell him,” repeated Matthew. “No matter what. Not if he hates you, not if he cries, and not even if you have to hurt him, yourself.”

There was another period of uncomfortable silence between them, in which the doctor began to stitch up the incision.

“I just thought I should clarify,” said Matthew. “You know. In case you really  _do_ feel guilty.”

“I-”

“In case you can actually  _feel_ anything at all,” said Matthew.

Kiku turned his gaze back towards the ceiling.

“I feel many things,” said Kiku. “Sadness. Anger. Jealousy. Fear. Joy. More recently, regret. My capacity to express them, however, is limited. Most mistake this for apathy, perhaps understandably so. It has never been my intention to come across in this way, but it isn't something that I can help.”

“Oh, really? And what are you feeling right now?”

“Shame. Apprehension. Hope,” said Kiku. “Shame that I allowed this to happen. Apprehension about being caught. Hope that this endeavor will succeed.”

Matthew frowned.

“How do you feel about the revolution, then?”

“In honesty? This is something I  _do_ feel apathy towards. My life has not been one that fostered independent thought. For as long as I can remember, I have received orders and followed them. Making a decision like this? Outing myself on the slim chance that it saves someone I became more fond of than an assassin ever should? This is a first for me,” said Kiku.

“Well, then,” said Matthew. “Let's hope it isn't the last.”

“Yes,” agreed Kiku. “Let's hope.”


	9. Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaah, this chapter is sooooo freaking shooooooort, but I've just been so busy this week! I dunno, I may actually take a week off just so I can focus on homework and stuff. Or not. I dunno yet. If I don't update next Friday, though, don't panic, okay? I'm not quitting, or anything. It's just that schoolwork is getting in the way. We'll see how it goes, guys; we'll see.

Breakfast the next morning was uncomfortable, to say the least. Alfred stuck to his kibble, for the most part. His stomach positively despised him for how little he was consuming. Alfred had grown up knowing hunger like he knew the color of the sky, and he _hated_ it. Luckily, Ivan didn't seem to catch on; his mind seemed to be elsewhere that morning, and though he insisted on eating breakfast in his room with Alfred, he spent the morning looking over paperwork, as though in preparation for something.

The worst, however, was yet to come. When Raivis and Eduard walked through the door, he wasn't sure what to say. He still couldn't say he regretted it, but interactions were especially uncomfortable with the new knowledge that he'd kinda-sorta killed their parents.

“Good morning, Alfred,” said Eduard.

Alfred didn't meet their eyes. It wasn't like he was _guilty,_ or anything! It was just a little awkward, that was all!

“Mornin',” said Alfred, making it a point to leave out the 'good' part.

Eduard looked a little surprised by his minimal response, but didn't seem inclined to question it. Both he and Raivis immediately set about refilling the kibble and replacing his water bottle. Meanwhile, Alfred began flitting through his options for chores that day, which turned out to be more or less the same. He still wasn't allowed to leave the room for anything aside from cooking, and he wasn't about to put up with Lovino's shit again, so he queued them up in much the same way that he had before.

“You're acting strange today, Alfred,” said Raivis. “Did something happen?”

Alfred didn't understand how he could ask such a question so casually. Had Ivan perhaps been mistaken about their identities? He _was_ a bit of a douche. It stood to reason that maybe he just didn't remember which of his soldiers was which. Maybe it was some _other_ pair of guards that he'd been talking about. Hopefully people assigned to the other end of the castle.

“Do you two-” began Alfred, only to stop himself. What did _he_ care if Eduard and Raivis hated him? It wasn't his problem. He needed to get out. If he had to, he would just have to kill them, too. His goal was to escape and return to the rebels' side. “Never mind.”

Eduard gazed at him curiously for a moment, then approached the coffee table with his bag.

“Very well, then,” said Eduard. “Raivis, give me your radio.”

Raivis handed his radio over without hesitation, looking very much relieved. “Thank you so much, Eduard. You're a life-saver.”

The radio, as it turned out, was totally busted. It looked like somebody had crushed it, which was a pretty impressive feat, considering those things were almost impossible to break. Alfred had one of his own back at the rebel base, and it had remained functional even after he'd dropped it out of a second story window. Because of how sturdy they were (or, well, how sturdy they were _supposed_ to be) they were pretty pricey, though, so he could imagine that Ivan wouldn't be happy to learn one had been completely busted.

Fortunately for Raivis, Eduard immediately sat down and got to work putting it back together. Through a combination of a screwdriver and some sort of adhesive, every part that he touched was quickly left looking as good as new. Alfred found himself so engrossed in Eduard's magic fingers that he almost completely forgot how hungry he was.

Almost.

As if on queue, Alfred's stomach growled so loudly that Raivis shrieked and nearly fell out of his seat.

“What kind of a guard is that easily startled?” muttered Alfred.

“Raivis' swift reflexes have gotten the both of us out of trouble on numerous occasions,” said Eduard without looking up from what he was doing. The praise turned Raivis' cheeks pink. “Any faster, and he could dodge a bullet.”

“Wanna make a bet?” said Alfred reflexively, but Raivis' resultant look of alarm was making him feel things that he wasn't particularly keen on dealing with. “Whatever, just hurry up and eat. I've gotta get these stupid chores done if I ever want a pair of freaking pants.”

It didn't matter that he'd killed their parents. They were still his enemies. They were the _bad guys._ The _villains._

Eduard's words echoed in his head.

_Killing machine. Killing machine. Killing machine._

If nothing else, all of those awful, uncomfortable feelings made it incredibly difficult to eat much kibble, which in turn would eventually assist him in escaping. Well, assuming that his plan would even work. It was a very, _very_ small hole, and he hadn't been skinny enough to even consider such an attempt in a while. What if it was all a waste of time? What if...

No. He couldn't afford to think like that. He had a plan, and he had to stick with it, at least until he came up with a better one. How long would it take for him to slim down, though? Weeks? Months? Alfred prayed that wasn't the case; he didn't know how long Ivan planned to wait before he ra- _did things_ to him.

“Alfred? Are you still with us?” asked Eduard.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” said Alfred, finally snapping out of his daze. “H-hey, is it possible to open a window, or something? I think I need some fresh air.”

“Sorry, Alfred, but rules are rules,” said Eduard. “You're not to be provided with any direct routes outside without either Ivan's permission, or your leash.”

Alfred froze. “Leash?”

“He hasn't been on any walks yet,” said Raivis, fidgeting in his seat. “I don't think he's seen it.”

“It's a chain leash, Raivis,” said Eduard. He screwed up the battery compartment, then set about re-attaching the antennae. “It's pretty self-explanatory.”

“A chain leash? Really? What more security do I need?” demanded Alfred. “Are the ankle chains and handcuffs not enough?”

“It's mostly for show, I think,” said Raivis.

“Mostly,” said Eduard. “But it also keeps you from getting too far away, chained ankles or otherwise.”

Alfred could hardly believe the sheer level of security that Ivan insisted on keeping him under. At first, it had been somewhat flattering to think that he was considered dangerous enough to warrant it, but it was quickly, _quickly_ getting old. Cameras, chains, paralytic devices, and suddenly he was getting _more chains?_

“What next?” said Alfred. “Oh, don't tell me! I need a muzzle to make sure I don't bite anyone, right?”

It had only been a sarcastic comment, but Raivis and Eduard exchanged an uneasy look. That didn't bode well.

“Oh, no,” said Alfred. “Don't _tell_ me...”

“With all the attempted biting you've been doing...” began Raivis.

“Prince Ivan put in an order for a muzzle yesterday,” said Eduard. “Once it's finished, you will be expected to wear it whenever you leave this room.”

Well, that was about it. Alfred was fucking done. He tossed his hands into the air and flopped back down on the dog bed to glare at the ceiling, as though he could burn through the top of the cage through the sheer force of his own anger. Seriously, fuck that shit. Alfred had been pushed, and pushed, and _pushed._ Every time he thought for sure that Ivan had driven him over the edge, it seemed that he just fell face-first into a new cliff to be shoved off of.

How could he possibly sink any lower? About the only thing he could think of that might be worse would be if he were forced to crawl around on his hands and knees while donning a pair of animal ears on his head. The day prior, he might have pitched a fit, but he found that he was swiftly running out of fucks to give. A leash? Sure! Why not? It was just one more humiliation to add to the ever-growing pile.

“So, umm,” said Raivis slowly.

“Yeah, sure, I know, lay down so you can paralyze me again. Let's just get this over with,” said Alfred.

The process of being put into his 'uniform' and restraints was only slightly more tolerable than the last time, if only because he knew what to expect. The heels were fastened tightly around his feet and ankles, as were the handcuffs. As soon as Alfred was ready to go, Eduard left to go train, as he had the previous day. Alfred envied him. Oh, what he would have done for just a quick jog!

How long did it take for muscles to start to go when faced with starvation? Three days, right? He would have to enjoy his strength while it lasted.

Alfred took his sweet time getting his work done, if only to enjoy the feeling of being outside of that freaking cage. That, and the fact that he wanted to make sure he was squeezing as many points out of Raivis as was humanly possible. The heels were still a little uncomfortable to walk in, but it wasn't a completely foreign feeling to him anymore. If nothing else, he supposed it was kind of nice to feel a little bit taller. Not that he was particularly short, or anything – he wasn't quite as unfortunate as Raivis in that department – but at least Ivan would tower over him just a little less.

“Done,” said Alfred miserably. Back to the cage. At least he'd accumulated a total of 1,000 points. 900 for the chores, and 100 from the 'daily bonus,' bringing him up to 1,160. The denim jeans were a bit out of his price range, but he could still afford – _uhg_ – black leggings for 1,000 points. If he could just buy a pair of those every day for, say, two weeks, he might have the beginnings of a rope.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” said Raivis.

“I don't care  _ how  _ pissed Ivan gets at you. There's no rule for  _ me  _ that says I need to cook, so I'm not doing it,” said Alfred. He needed all the points he could get, but he wasn't about to waltz around in a dress and work his ass off for ten points. Knowing his own temper, he'd end up getting himself fined again, making it a wasted effort. “That's your problem.”

“Oh, come on!” whined Raivis. “He's terrifying!”

“Then quit,” said Alfred flatly. “You, at least, have that option.”

“I lost that option when you escaped!” fumed Raivis. “I've been  _ sentenced  _ to do this job until such a time that the prince is satisfied! If I tried to quit now, I'd be executed for treason!”

“Join the club, kid.”

“I'm  _ older than you!” _

Alfred blinked. That was a little surprising. Raivis was so baby-faced that it was kind of hard to tell. Then again, Alfred was only 19, and service members had to be at least 18. Even if he hadn't had to wait the standard time to be promoted to the Royal Guard thanks to his parents, he couldn't possibly have been  _ that  _ much younger, if at all.

“Sorry, ki- man,” corrected Alfred awkwardly. “I just sort of assumed-”

“Everyone always does,” grumbled Raivis. “But I'll forgive you if you take the cooking chore.”

“Well, in light of this new information,” said Alfred, smiling, “I feel even  _ less  _ like doing it now that I know I'm not getting some snot-nosed brat into trouble!”

“Alfreeeeeeed!”

 

* * *

 

“Duke Heracles,” greeted Ivan politely, even as he wanted to smash his fist through the table. “How very nice to see you.”

“Prince Ivan,” said Heracles from the monitor. His tone, as usual, was distant, as though he weren't even entirely there. Although he addressed him, he hadn't said 'hello,' and his eyes appeared to be focused more on the wall than anything else.

Of course. He'd already zoned out.

“Duke Heracles,” said Ivan again, a bit more forcefully. “I see you brought a new  _ adviser.” _

“What? Oh. Of course,” said Heracles, glancing upwards at the cat that had settled itself on his head. “This is Artemis.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Ivan, gritting his teeth. “Now, about that trade agreement. The- Duke Heracles.  _ Duke Heracles.” _

Heracles' head snapped back up from where it had fallen. “Huh? What? Oh. Good morning, Prince Ivan.”

And people _wondered_ why Ivan had a temper.

“Good morning, Duke,” said Ivan icily. “Now, if you would, we have-”

There was a sound like simultaneous smacking as Heracles' face hit the keyboard for the second time since the meeting started. Just when Ivan felt about ready to smash the keyboard, Toris set something down on the table beside him.

“Consider it an early birthday present,” said Toris.

Ivan could have cried tears of delight. He didn't, of course, because that would have been rather unbecoming of a prince, but he gave Toris one of his rarely-seen,  _ true  _ smiles.

“Toris, you always know how to make me feel better,” said Ivan. “We'll meet tomorrow to discuss your pay raise.”

“Oh! Thank you, sir!”

Ivan peeled the ribbon off of the air horn, placed it right up against the microphone, and squeezed the trigger.

The resulting look of alarm on Heracles face as he jerked awake and his cats all fled the room was well worth whatever consequences he had to deal with for such a blatant act of unprofessionalism.

“R-right, the trade agreement,” stammered Heracles. “Where were we?”

Ivan straightened out his stack of papers.

“Arbine is right on the national border, as you well know,” said Ivan. “It has come to my attention that a duke of the neighboring kingdom has given you very favorable tariffs for your exports that the crown has been unable to secure.”

“Oh,” said Heracles, appearing uneasy. “Is this a problem?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Ivan. “I would like to negotiate some terms to send exports through Arbine in order to benefit from this contract. Obviously, you would also be compensated; it's the form of that compensation that I'd like to discuss with you, else we could have handled this by email.”

“Oh,” said Heracles again. “Isn't that cheating?”

“It's within the parameters of the contract that you signed. That is to say, it wasn't expressly mentioned not to be permitted.”

“Still,” said Heracles. “This seems a bit dishonest. There's a reason that tariffs on exports from Wyv are so high. The infrastructure is in place to produce goods at only a fraction of what it would otherwise cost. If their market were flooded with cheaper, foreign trade goods, it could-”

“Drive their own factories out of business and leave them overly dependent on us, ensuring that peace and trade are maintained?” said Ivan. “That  _ is  _ an interesting little plus to the whole thing, isn't it? And, you know, since you were so very bright to figure that out, perhaps I could put in a good word with the king that you deserve a tax reduction!”

In other words, he of course meant 'Keep your mouth shut, and you'll be rewarded.'

Heracles appeared to think long and hard about that. “And if I refuse?”

“But why would you, when you only stand to gain?” said Ivan. “Besides, with the cost of the civil war, and everything, these tariffs are putting quite a strain on the country, wouldn't you say? It would be a shame if, instead of a reduction, taxes for everyone had to go  _ up.” _

And there it was. His ultimatum. One always had to be careful in putting pressure on vassals, of course. Ivan hadn't been lying when he told Alfred that it was a difficult undertaking requiring utmost care. That was why it was so important that his threat that the capital would increase taxes would impact  _ everyone. _ That would ensure that they were able to pin the blame squarely on Heracles' shoulders for backing out of a good deal over concern for a completely different country.

“I understand,” said Heracles reluctantly. “Fine, then. Let's negotiate.”

 

* * *

 

Alfred was bored.

It seemed such a minor complaint in comparison to the rest of the suffering he'd endured, but it really, really wasn't. The boredom he was feeling went beyond the standard 'I don't know if I want to play video games or watch a movie.' It was closer to sitting in detention, only worse, because he couldn't even doodle in his notebook. He didn't  _ have  _ a notebook,  _ or  _ a pencil. Pencils were too  _ sharp. _

“You couldn't just go cook with Lovino?” said Eduard.

“Nope,” said Alfred.

“You'd rather just see Raivis and I get into trouble,” said Eduard.

“Yep.”

“Not only that, but you'd rather sit there  _ staring at the ceiling.” _

“I finally found a comfortable position on my back that keeps pressure off of my ass!” said Alfred. He'd had plenty of time since lunch to try different configurations of his limbs, and he'd finally stumbled upon an answer! From a kneeling position, he just had to part his legs and lean back into the bed. “On the downside, it's cutting off circulation to my feet, but the rest of me feels fantastic!”

“How very nice for you,” said Eduard. “I suppose I'll just have to talk my way out of execution. Again.”

“You sure that he actually means it when he threatens you, or does he just like watching you squirm?” asked Alfred.

“I don't know,” admitted Eduard. “Do  _ you?” _

Alfred frowned. “Fair enough.”

“Then you don't have much of a right to question my displeasure with the whole thing, do you?”

Alfred shrugged as much as he could from his position. It wasn't his problem. It had never been his problem. Eduard was still the enemy.

“You really are completely heartless, aren't you?”

And with that, Alfred was back on his feet, marching right on up to the edge of the cage to glare right into Eduard's stupid face.

“You want to try saying that again, punk?” said Alfred. “Go ahead. I  _ dare  _ you.”

It was difficult to tell if it was the comfort of having been around him for so long, or the bars between them, but Eduard stood his ground without so much of a shudder.

“You're heartless,” said Eduard. “A heartless killing machine.”

“Oh, yeah?” snarled Alfred. “And what makes you say that?”

“I draw my assessment only from your behavior,” said Eduard. “And your behavior has led me to believe that you have never felt anything for a single life that you've ended. Or am I wrong?”

“I don't have to feel  _ anything  _ for you people!” said Alfred. “What makes you think you can judge me? What gives you the right to look me in the eye and tell me that I'm a monster for fighting for what I believe in? For the people I care about?”

“And what about the people I cared about, Alfred?” said Eduard. “What about the people Raivis cared about? How can  _ you  _ look at  _ me  _ and say that their deaths meant nothing to you?”

Alfred had always been an emotional and reactionary person. As much as Matthew chewed him out for it, when he got irritated, he wasn't good at keeping his thoughts to himself, however brief they were.

“Oh, you mean your parents?” said Alfred, his very posture becoming increasingly unhinged. They were gone.  _ Gone,  _ just like his own! “Yeah! Yeah, I killed them! I  _ killed  _ them, and they're never coming back!  _ How does that feel?” _

He regretted the words the moment they passed his lips. Even Eduard took a step backwards, shocked by their sheer brutality.

Alfred's face fell. What had he just said?

_ What had he just said? _

“W-wait,” said Alfred weakly. Eduard took another step back. “I- I didn't mean...”

“You really  _ are  _ a heartless killing machine,” said Eduard, his eyes wide.

“No, Eduard, wai-”

He ran out of the room, practically ripping the door from its hinges in the process. Alfred wasn't sure if he was relieved or distraught. Drained of energy, he returned to the dog bag and collapsed onto his side to curl up and cling to one of the pillows.

Those hadn't been the words of a hero. Those hadn't even been the words of a human being. No, those were the words of a  _ monster. _

The words of a  _ villain. _

“I didn't mean it...” he told himself. “I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it.”

_ Killing machine. Heartless. Killing machine. Heartless. MURDERER. _

“I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it!”

Over and over, Alfred chanted those words, until the pillow against his face had been thoroughly soaked with tears. How could he have even come up with such an awful thing? It was one thing to kill someone. It was quite another thing to gloat about it to the people who loved them. How could anyone defend something so heinous? Was it really just stress, or was that just how he truly felt? Did he feel  _ good  _ about all the families he'd destroyed?

Was he a murderer?

“Mattie,” he whimpered. “I didn't mean it. I didn't...”

But it didn't matter how much he chanted. He was alone.

No one cared to comfort a monster.

 

* * *

 

Eduard winced as something grabbed the back of his uniform from behind.

“Ah, Eduard! Just the man I wanted to see!” said Ivan. Eduard reluctantly turned his head around. Raivis was already squirming to break free of Ivan's grip, obviously terrified beyond belief. “And here I was just on my way to go collect you from my room! Weren't you with Alfred?”

“Alfred has elected not to take on any more chores today,” said Eduard numbly. “There's no more point in staying. I was about to go train.”

“Hm, well, right now, we're going to have a little chat. Right this way, please,” said Ivan, gesturing with his head in the direction of the conference room.

Eduard exhaled. “Yes, my prince.”

The walk was short. Too short for him to have time to come up with excuses. He could only hope that the ones he'd prepared in advance were enough to get him through the following conversation.

Inside the conference room sat a massive round table, with several clean black screens hanging from the walls. As of late, they got far more use than the chairs, most of which were pulled out from their positions under the table only for the purpose of dusting them off now and again.

Raivis squealed as he was plopped down into a chair, which Ivan oh-so-gracefully pushed in for him, pinning his body uncomfortably against the table. Eduard opted to sit down of his own accord on the opposite side while Ivan took his place between them.

“I presume that you two understand why you're here,” said Ivan calmly. Eduard nodded, and Raivis continued to wiggle. “Well, just in case, I'll elaborate. First of all, it has come to my attention that my pet now knows precisely what is intended for him. I had prepared several ways to break the news, but you two went ahead and spoke without thinking.”

“We apologize, Prince Ivan,” said Eduard, without even thinking about it. “We acted rashly, and humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“Your second transgression is more recent,” continued Ivan. “It would appear that the two of you failed to convince Alfred to sign up for a cooking chore, as I'd asked.”

“Please understand, my prince; Alfred is not particularly skilled at cooking, and he doesn't get along well with Lovino,” said Eduard. “He doesn't find it worth the effort knowing that he'll probably score poorly.”

“Didn't Lovino show him what to do?”

“Lovino is not a very patient man,” said Eduard. Before it looked like he was trying to throw Lovino under the bus, however, he was quick to add, “In fairness, it's difficult for him to teach when there's so much going on in the kitchen, and so much has to be done. If Alfred could be taken aside for lessons outside of the busy hours, I think it would go much better.”

“You may be right,” said Ivan thoughtfully. “Perhaps this was a miscalculation on my part. Very well, then. I didn't want to implement this feature into the Good Boy Module so early on, but it should be fine if I only set up one to be unlocked. Thank you, Eduard. Of course, there's still the issue of that other thing...”

“We understand,” said Eduard, even as Raivis continued to whimper.

“Good. In that case, I would ask that you both report to you-know-where. I've had you checked in for some minor correctional measures.”

Eduard winced. In his experience, 'minor' meant about five to ten lashes. It was better than he'd expected, though, so he couldn't complain. “Yes, my prince.”

“Very well! Hop to it, then. I'm afraid I have to remain for a private meeting with the royal council.”

It was difficult to drag Raivis out of rooms when he was hysterical, but somehow, Eduard always managed to pry him from the door frame. From there, there was nowhere to go but down. It had been quite some time since he'd been forced to take the Walk of Shame down to the dungeon, but he supposed the whip was better than some of the alternatives. Death, for one.

“Calm down, Raivis,” said Eduard. “It's just a lashing.”

“It's not just that!” whimpered Raivis. “When Prince Ivan slammed me down into the chair, I broke my radio again!”

“I'm never going to understand how you keep smashing that thing,” sighed Eduard. “Give it here, I'll have it fixed before we reach the bottom floor.”

“Oh, thank you, Eduard!”

Eduard sighed.

“It's not a problem.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” called a soft, soothing voice. For a moment, Alfred was able to convince himself that it was Matthew. When he raised his head, however, it was just some gentle-faced brunette in fancy clothes, prompting him to throw is head back against the damp pillow. “Eduard?”

“Eduard left,” muttered Alfred.

“Oh,” said the brunette. Alfred didn't watch him as he stepped closer to the cage, but even his gait was graceful, and his shoes clicked softly against the ground. “Well, in any case, I have something for you, Alfred.”

Alfred slowly lifted himself up to see the man pushing what looked to be a small tub of air-drying clay through the doggy door.

“Thanks, I guess,” said Alfred. It was a bit difficult to care about something like that when he was going through a bit of an existential crisis. “Is that all?”

“Are you okay?” asked the man. “You seem upset.”

“No, really?” said Alfred sarcastically. “What gave it away?”

“Well, in any case,” said the man, “my name is Toris. Toris Laurinaitis. I'm Prince Ivan's steward. I try to keep everyone's affairs in order.”

“Don't care.”

“Well, I care,” said Toris. He took a seat by the coffee table not too far from Alfred's cage. “What seems to be the problem?”

Alfred just gave him a disbelieving look. “What's the problem?  _ What's the problem?  _ I want to go  _ home!” _

“This  _ is _ your home now.”

“Oh my God,” said Alfred. “Were you guys all born with a brick for a brain, or are you just intentionally stupid? You can say that it's home all you want, and that isn't gonna make it true! Not when I'm being confined, insulted, tortured, and sexually assaulted!”

Surprisingly, Toris didn't argue with him on that.

“I know,” said Toris. “I know how miserable you must feel right now, and I know that you miss your friends terribly. I'm truly sorry, Alfred.”

“You're not sorry at all!” said Alfred. “You're just like the rest of them! Everyone here thinks I'm just a criminal! A  _ murderer!  _ But I didn't- I just wanted to...”

“Alfred-”

“I don't even know anymore,” said Alfred. “I don't know how to I'm supposed to feel, or if I'm supposed to do anything at all. I don't regret what I did, and I still think I'm on the right side, but, you know, there's a tiny part of me that's starting to wonder if it's really as simple as all that. I hate this place, I hate this system, and I hate  _ him.  _ They're all  _ awful.  _ But what about me? If I'm fighting awful things, doesn't that make me good?”

Toris hesitated.

“The world is so much more complicated than what's right and what's wrong,” said Toris at last. “Sometimes it's obvious, and other times, not so much. There's no such thing as a perfect force of good in this world. Sometimes you just have to choose whichever one you believe in, yourself.”

Alfred shifted slightly. “And what about you? What made you choose  _ this?” _

“You can never know what the right decision will be. Maybe it  _ is  _ a revolution. Or maybe, a revolution could just make things worse,” said Toris. “I work hard, and try to do what good for people that I can. I can't fault the decisions of someone who believes that their actions will make the world a better place. Life is just a dark path where the end of the road is shrouded in shadow; you can take a best guess, but you can never see where the route you choose will lead until you reach the end. You and I have taken different paths with similar destinations in mind. Only time will tell which of us is right.”

Alfred slowly rose to his feet to approach the edge of the cage.

“Do you think you're a good person?”

“I'd like to think so, but then, most people think of themselves as good,” said Toris. “We've all done terrible things, and I'm no exception. In one hundred years' time, history will have decided which terrible things were most warranted.”

“Do you think  _ I'm  _ a good person?”

Toris looked at him thoughtfully.

“I'm afraid that I wouldn't know how to answer that question,” said Toris. “After all, I don't know your true feelings and motivations. Do  _ you  _ believe that you're a good person, Alfred? That's the question you have to ask. If you kill just because you enjoy it, probably not. But if you really believe that you're doing the right thing, well...”

“And Ivan?” said Alfred. “Does Ivan think he's doing the right thing? Would that suddenly make all of the horrible things that he's done  _ good?  _ Just because he  _ believed  _ they were?”

“Once again, I'm afraid that those are questions you have to figure out on your own,” said Toris. “Because sometimes, I'm afraid that good is simply subjective.”

Alfred furrowed his brow. There was no way that anything Ivan was doing could ever be  _ good.  _ There was no way that Ivan was a good  _ person.  _ Not in the slightest. How could anyone do such horrible things and not realize that it was evil? And even if, somehow, he didn't fully understand, how would that make what he'd done less awful?

_ What if what I've done is awful? _

“I don't want to think about this anymore,” said Alfred softly.

Toris managed a forced smile.

“If it's any consolation, Alfred, I don't think you're such a bad person.”

“Thank you,” said Alfred, doing his best to blink away tears. “Thank you.”


	10. Time for Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaah, sorry this is late! So first of all, I DID end up taking the week off last Friday. Sorry about that. I might actually take another off just to finish my essay. I've just got so much crap I have to do lately, I'm sorry. Believe me, I'd much rather be writing this. As for why it's up Saturday when I promised this Friday... Err, I kinda-sorta fell asleep super early (like, at eight o'clock) and couldn't find the time to post it this morning. This is a bit of an off week for me. ^^' I'm gonna TRY to get back on schedule as soon as I can, but man, sometimes life just doesn't make it easy.

How had the situation become so dire, so quickly?

“Don't you  _ dare,”  _ hissed Alfred.

“Why not?” said Ivan. “It's my room.”

All had been well and good just twenty or so minutes prior. Sure, Toris was a stranger, but he'd stayed and talked with Alfred long enough to help him get over his hysteria. After he'd left, he'd opened up the little tub of clay and pulled out a handful to start messing around with. At first he'd merely squished it around a bit, but eventually he'd begun to get really into it. The next thing he knew, he'd begun busying himself sculpting a tiny eagle. Well, actually, it looked a little less like an eagle and more like a blob with a beak, but that wasn't the point. For the first time since his capture, he'd actually found himself somewhat  _ relaxed. _

And the Ivan had showed up, and all of that just went right out the window.

“I don't care if it's your room! You're making me stay in it against my will!”

“It's been a stressful day,” said Ivan, and Alfred couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a distinct  _ pout  _ on his face.

“Oh no. Oh no. OH.  _ NO.  _ Don't you tell  _ me _ it's been a 'stressful' day!” said Alfred, smacking the cage bars with his palm. “What about  _ me?  _ What about the stress that  _ I've  _ been through? And besides, your guards are  _ right there!” _

Alfred fervently gestured towards the guards standing by the door, both of whom only shrugged.

“They've seen worse, Alfred. It's their job to guard me at all times. They understood what that entailed when they signed up for the position,” said Ivan. “Besides, a noble's servants are only extensions of their own will. Have you no familiarity with courtly etiquette?”

“Oh, what the actual f- _ fudge?”  _ said Alfred. “And besides, what if they gossip about your tiny junk to other people, huh?”

“First of all, my 'junk' is far from tiny, as I believe you've come to learn,” said Ivan playfully. “And second of all, in a castle such as this, the walls have ears. Any gossip that gets around  _ will  _ come back to me, and those responsible will not escape consequences.”

Both of the guards at the door shuddered.

Thoroughly annoyed, Alfred plopped himself back into bed and continued to play with his clay, doing his best to focus on anything except the soon-to-be pantsless prince. He'd seen enough of Ivan's dick to last a lifetime of misery, and he didn't care to see it  _ hard. _

Even from his position in the far corner of the room, Alfred could hear a pleased little 'hum' from Ivan as he touched himself, and it was immensely bothersome. Any other person in any other situation, and Alfred might have actually been turned on by the thought of another guy jerking off right in front of him. Heck, if it weren't for the fact that he now knew that Ivan wanted to fuck him, he might have even enjoyed the show to some degree, if only to make fun of him later. As it was, though, he was just plain uncomfortable. If only he'd thought to invest some of his extra points into a pair of earplugs.

Time seemed to pass slowly. Alfred wasn't even trying to make any shapes with the clay anymore; he just needed something to focus on other than Ivan's little pants and moans.

“Alfred,” said Ivan in a totally normal voice.

Instinctively, Alfred's head shot up to look at the person addressing him. Sure enough, there was Ivan, on his back and staring lustfully at him with one hand running slowly up and down his sizable cock.

“Oh, son of a...” hissed Alfred. He rapidly turned his gaze back down. Gross! “Don't look at me when you do it! Come on!”

He was becoming keenly aware of the fact that he was almost completely naked, something that he'd almost managed to forget after Toris had left. The knowledge that Ivan's eyes were locked on his body was enough to make him feel a little ill. Alfred pulled a blanket over his body to cover himself and returned to sculpting, well,  _ something.  _ At that point, it was just a mess of white clay that was getting residue all over his hands.

Sticky white residue.

Alfred threw the blob of clay to the floor of his cage and immediately stood up to go wash his hands. Unfortunately, the blanket fell to his ankles while his hands were being rinsed.

“You shouldn't cover up like that,” said Ivan, disappointed. “You have such a nice body. Don't be ashamed of that.”

“I'm not ashamed of  _ anything!”  _ snapped Alfred. “I just don't want to be used as you're personal fap material!”

“Even if I can't see you, I can't help but  _ imagine  _ it,” said Ivan. “You couldn't possibly know just how much I'd like to claim that incredible mouth of yours. I bet you could take the whole thing down your throat without a problem.”

“Of course I could. You've got a freaking worm dick.”

“Oh? A worm? And what does that make yours, when it's objectively smaller? A piece of string? A wire?”

Ivan was making it harder and harder not to throw another fit. They accomplished nothing and only resulted in injuries, but it sure felt good while they lasted. Alfred tried not to shudder with every noise Ivan made, from the gasps and moans to the sound of his hand sliding up and down his length. Even if he wasn't actually being touched, the idea that he was being used as jerk-off material was horrifying enough in and of itself. Being trapped meant that he could do nothing to stop it, and complaining would do no good, either. If anything, Ivan seemed to get off on his displeasure. Getting to hear how miserable his actions were making Alfred probably would have just excited him further. No, the best plan was probably to keep silent.

Given that Alfred was Alfred, however, the whole 'silent' thing was easier said than done.

He threw himself back into bed and wrapped himself up in blankets, to the point that he looked more like a burrito than anything resembling a human being. He had no doubt that Ivan would be disappointed, but that was his problem. Alfred buried his head under the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, come now, Alfred, is that any way to behave towards your master?” scolded Ivan. “Don't be so difficult. Or are you just disappointed that you aren't participating?”

“Not even in your dreams!” hissed Alfred.

“Well, if you don't show your master a little more skin, I'm just going to assume that you'd like to help me with this,” said Ivan, licking his lips. “And I'll be more than happy to oblige, of course.”

Why did his life suck so hard? Alfred muttered a few insults under his breath – no obscenities, of course, for fear of Ivan hearing and docking his points – and got up to pull the blanket off of his body. At the very least, he still had the thong. Not that it helped his dignity all that much, but it was better than total nudity.

He could only hope that the leggings he'd ordered would arrive sooner rather than later, because he couldn't afford to be too disobedient. With only 160 points remaining, Alfred had enough to handle up to two fines, but a third would both put him over the cap  _ and  _ put him at a point deficit. He wasn't sure if that would net him a double punishment or not, but he wasn't about to take that kind of a risk. Besides, if he was only getting 1000 points a day, he had to make that tiny bit of padding last the entire time that it took him to get all of the supplies he needed.

“Stand up, Alfred.”

Alfred stood up with a scowl on his face.

“Face me.”

He turned towards Ivan and closed his eyes.

“Hands behind your back.”

Oh, that son of a bitch. Alfred folded his arms behind his back, his frown intensifying.

“Legs a little further apart.”

_ Don't tell me to take off my underwear, don't tell me to take off my underwear... _

Praying it went no further, Alfred moved his feet apart just a little wider than shoulder-width. Aside from his barely-covered junk, his whole body was on display, a sensation that he found incredibly unsettling.

“Open your eyes.”

That was possibly the most difficult command of them all. At the very least, with his eyes closed, he could pretend that he was in uniform, perhaps standing at attention for someone he actually respected. He tried to move his eyes anywhere except Ivan, but it was impossible  _ not  _ to see him without turning away. The bastard looked so smug from his position on the bed, slowly stroking his all-too-hard length up and down as he watched Alfred with hungry eyes.

“Good job, pet. I have another task for you, though,” said Ivan.

_ Not the underwear, not the underwear! _

“Smile!”

Alfred took a deep breath and slowly,  _ slowly  _ forced the corners of his cheeks upwards. Ivan had only said to smile. He hadn't specified what  _ type  _ of smile, so Alfred decided to give him the angriest one that he had.

“Oh my. You look as though you're plotting my death,” said Ivan. Alfred expected a scolding, but what came next was probably even more disturbing. Ivan sped the movements of his hand. “O-oh, keep making that face!”

Alfred's cheeks burned like hot coals, and he couldn't keep from dropping the smile. If Ivan noticed, he didn't say anything. He only continued to stroke. Initially, Alfred held out some hope that he would finish up soon, but damn if he wasn't taking his sweet fucking time with it. Precum oozed from the tip of his length.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of misery and humiliation, he asked what Alfred had been dreading.

“Pull down that cute little thong of yours, pet.”

Alfred hesitated.

“Don't keep me waiting,” said Ivan impatiently. “Come now, it's nothing I haven't seen before.”

Because that made it okay for him to see it again, apparently. And to  _ get off  _ on it.  _ Right in front of him. _

“Pet!”

Alfred grudgingly slipped his thumb down the front of his underwear and slowly tugged it downwards, exposing the smooth, clean-shaven skin below. He continued to pull until it just barely displayed the soft shaft of his genitalia. Although he would have been content to leave it at that, Ivan gestured for him to pull it further.

With no choice but to oblige, Alfred exposed the tip of his manhood, leaving it to hang out over the front of the thong. Though the band of the underwear was pressing uncomfortably into his scrotum, it wasn't bad enough for him to be able to justify moving it down more. Any further, and he may as well have taken it off completely.

“That's a good boy,” praised Ivan. Alfred considered himself lucky that they were separated by bars, saving him the added humiliation of a pat on the head.

“You're disgusting,” snarled Alfred.

“And you're running out of insults,” said Ivan. “Surely you have other way to tell me how much you despise me.”

Things to say that weren't full of enough swears to make even Arthur blush? Unlikely. Alfred bit his tongue and chewed softly. He couldn't risk opening his mouth to speak again.

It was almost kind of funny; around friends, he rarely lost his temper. Even when he was insulted, he was more likely to laugh it off. Around his enemies, however, he couldn't find it in him to be his usual, cheerful self. 

It took what felt like forever for Ivan to finish up, and Alfred was forced to watch the whole thing. Every time he tried to turn his head or close his eyes, he was immediately called on it. Who in the world took that long to masturbate themselves to orgasm? At some point during his ordeal, Alfred couldn't even find it in him to keep focusing on his own feelings of humiliation; just the feeling of boredom that resulted whenever he was forced to sit still and do absolutely nothing. Occasionally, his mind would wander, but he didn't like where it kept wandering  _ to,  _ meaning that the only thing he really had to focus on was the movement of Ivan's hand.

At long,  _ long  _ last, it came to an end. Thick streams of sperm spurted out of Ivan's sizable cock, only to be caught in a handful of tissues. His ghostly pale face had gone pink, and he smiled as he tossed the tissues into a nearby waste bin. Alfred immediately returned to covering himself.

“Well, that was fun,” said Ivan.

“That was the  _ opposite  _ of fun!” said Alfred angrily. “That was _humiliating!_ How can you get off to something like that,  _ knowing  _ how horrible it is for me?”

“Horrible? I didn't even touch you,” said Ivan. “Besides, I'm just taking what's due to me in exchange for my protection.”

By then, Alfred recognized how futile it was to try to argue about his captivity in and of itself. Still, there was a nagging question on his mind; one that had lingered in his head ever since his little talk with Toris.

“Why?” demanded Alfred. “Why are you doing all of this? You're a freaking prince! If you really wanted, you could bang just about anyone you wanted! So why  _ me?” _

“You're attractive.”

“Oh, for the love of- look, I  _ know  _ I'm hot, but we  _ both  _ know that I'm not the only attractive person in the world,” snapped Alfred. “There are plenty of people as attractive as me who you  _ wouldn't  _ have to keep in a freaking cage!”

Ivan giggled. “Attractiveness inherently subjective, and it's so much more than just looks, Alfred.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“To me, you're one of the most attractive people I've ever met,” said Ivan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to approach the cage. Alfred immediately took a step back. “You're physical features make up a part of that, true, but it's also your personality. The confidence you project. You have the smile of an angel, beautiful and innocent, yet infinitely judgmental. You eliminate your enemies without hesitation or mercy, assured by your own naivety that the people you've killed are little more than villainous obstacles.”

He didn't like where the conversation was going. “I-”

“From the very first moment that I laid eyes on you, Alfred, I  _ knew  _ that I had to have you by my side,” said Ivan. “There are only a handful of people like you in the world. People who can do what you do, and yet smile like their souls are still pure.  _ Believing  _ their souls are still pure. How can any one person be so compassionate and so heartless at the same time? Life isn't a fantasy novel, after all. Real people can't mow down their enemies without a hint of remorse or trauma. And yet, here you are, seemingly unaffected by your harrowing experiences on the battlefield. A psychologist might have diagnosed you with psychopathy.”

_ “I'm not a psychopath!” _

“Of course not,” said Ivan. “You feel emotions and form connections with others the same way that most others do. That's what makes you so fascinating.”

Alfred glowered. “And you? You're not a psychopath?”

“Hmm, probably not,” said Ivan, his tone surprisingly thoughtful. “After all, psychopaths can't feel love.”

“Oh, please. Like you've ever loved anyone but yourself,” scoffed Alfred.

“Well,” said Ivan. “I fell in love with you, didn't I?”

The room went so silent that one could have heard a tissue fluttering to the floor.

“You  _ what?”  _ said Alfred, horrified.

“I love you,” said Ivan cheerfully, though the confession appeared to have tinted his cheeks pink.

“NO,” said Alfred firmly. “No, no, no, no, NO! You don't  _ torture  _ someone you love! You don't  _ sexually abuse  _ them! You don't  _ threaten to hurt their family!” _

“Well, it's true that it might be a bit of an unhealthy obsession,” admitted Ivan. “But love is defined as 'an intense feeling of deep affection.' It doesn't have to be healthy to be true!”

Alfred's jaw opened and shut like a theme park animatronic. How could he even hope to find the words necessary to explain to Ivan how wrong that was? How did one convince somebody like Ivan that  _ keeping someone in captivity  _ was the exact  _ opposite  _ of 'love?'

“Then why torture me?” he said hollowly.

“To teach you to love me back, of course,” said Ivan as though it were obvious.

Alfred slammed his forehead against the bars of his cage.

 

* * *

 

The next few days were uncomfortable, but at least more bearably so. The leggings took about twenty-four hours each to arrive, and while they weren't even close to as good as a pair of pants, it was vastly superior to the thong. Alfred did his chores without too much protest in order to avoid getting fined, but with every passing day, he found that he was able to complete his assigned tasks faster and faster. In most cases, he would have been pleased by his growing efficiency, but it just meant getting sent back into his cage earlier, where he made tiny figurines of various weapons until he was almost out of clay.

“Hey, Raivis,” said Alfred one day, shortly before Raivis' shift would end and Eduard's would begin. He held up a blob of clay. “Mind giving me a hand with this one?”

“What? Why?” asked Raivis, who'd grown marginally more comfortable with his presence. At the very least, he no longer jumped at every noise.

“You've got smaller fingers. I'm trying to make a person, but I only have enough clay to make them tiny, so they need smaller eye sockets. I don't have any tools, though.”

“Oh. I, umm, I guess that's okay,” said Raivis.

Alfred held the clay up next to the bars, which Raivis pushed one finger through.

“Not your fingertip. You'll just get a weird crease where your nail is. Just gently push your finger against it, like a print scanner. Careful not to rub it, you'll make it wrinkle! Yeah, perfect! Thanks, man.”

The cage had grown a bit cluttered as of late. There was a small pile of leggings in the back corner, right next to where all of his ugly clay creations sat on the floor. Ivan had briefly questioned him about why he needed so many of the things, which Alfred had struggled to justify.

“If I can wear enough layers of them, they won't be skin-tight enough for you to get off on!” he'd said frantically.

“But you have six of them now! If you'd just waited, you could have saved up for-”

“Oh, you mad that I ruined it for you?”

“I'm just saying that-”

“Well, too bad! Good luck trying to ogle me  _ now!” _

“Whatever you say, Alfred.”

Unfortunately, Ivan still ogled him plenty. It became routine for him to order Alfred to expose himself every night when he was done working for the purpose of masturbation. Much as he hated to admit it, Alfred was quickly becoming desensitized to the sight of Ivan's dick, as was probably the intention. Every time he was made to pull down his leggings and thong, it became a little bit easier.

Other than that, however, everything was going pretty well. So well, in fact, that Alfred was completely unprepared to deal with the sudden curve Ivan threw at him almost a week in.

“I've updated the rules for your GBM!” said Ivan over lunch. “Go on, take a look!”

Alfred reluctantly picked up the module, scowling all the while. Whatever it was, it was probably bad.

_ 'Good pets take at least three classes a week.' _

“Classes?” said Alfred out loud.

“Check your catalogue!” said Ivan excitedly.

Sure enough, right beneath  _ 'Chores,'  _ a new button had appeared.  _ 'Classes,'  _ it said. Alfred pressed the button warily.

The button at the top was the only one that wasn't greyed out.

_ 'Cooking' _

_'Sewing'_

_'Massage'_

_'Dance'_

_'Sexual Education'_

“Interesting curriculum,” said Alfred flatly.

“Well, there should be more in the future, but for now, we'll keep it to cooking,” said Ivan.

Alfred reluctantly pressed the button.

_'Cooking I_

_20 2-Hour Classes_

_(2 Quizzes, 2 Exams)_

_Teacher: Lovino Vargas_

_A: 50,000 GBP_

_B: 20,000 GBP_

_C: 10,000 GBP_

_D: -100 GBP_

_F: -10,000 GBP'_

“Do you like it? Lovino was quite displeased when I asked him to put together a curriculum for you, but then, that's _his_ problem, not yours, wouldn't you agree?” giggled Ivan.

“Of course I don't like it!” said Alfred angrily. Damn it, Ivan was seriously making him do _schoolwork?_ With _quizzes_ and _tests?_ Taught by _Lovino?_ “That son of a bi-biscuit is just gonna fail me!”

“Wrong!” chirped Ivan. “Don't you worry your pretty little head, Alfred. I made sure to have a talk with him about what qualifies as a passing grade. As long as you try, you should at least get a D. You'll still have to retake the course for anything less than a C, of course, but since it's the same class, you'll certainly have improved enough to pass.”

“Oh, aren't you just so _generous!”_ said Alfred sarcastically. “And here I thought this would be a guaranteed spanking after twenty classes!”

“I could give you a spanking now, if you'd like,” purred Ivan. “It won't be quite so rough as when I'm punishing you, of course. With just a little boost to your sense of pleasure, I'm sure you'd find it quite-”

 _“Not. Interested,”_ hissed Alfred.

“Suit yourself,” said Ivan. “Anyway, with it being Thursday, you'll want to take a class today, tomorrow, and the day after in order to meet the Sunday deadline. Remember, you'll be fined per missed class!”

“ARGH!”

 

* * *

 

Alfred's first official class with Lovino that afternoon started off about as fun as he'd predicted. Which was to say, not at all.

“Oh, wow. What the fuck is that thing on your face?” snickered Lovino as Eduard escorted Alfred into the room.

It was bad enough that he was still wearing the maid uniform, the high heels, and the handcuffs from before, but a new device had been added to the list of things he had to have on whenever he left his cage. It wasn't a gag, as it didn't go inside his mouth, nor did it do anything to prevent him from speaking. Rather, it was a barred muzzle strapped over his nose and mouth in order to stop him from biting anybody. It vaguely reminded him of that device they strapped over some crazy cannibal's mouth in a movie he watched, but it had a sleeker, less intimidating design. Rather than some ratty-looking brown thing, it was a shiny black covered in a pattern of white stars. The colors were chosen to match the rest of his outfit, or so he'd been told.

“I don't want to talk about it,” said Alfred miserably. If nothing else, the device was at least comfortable. His lips didn't even brush against it when he spoke, and it adhered to his face very well, even though it had been tied snugly.

He preferred not to think about how Ivan had gotten all of his facial measurements.

“Oh. I wasn't even sure you could talk at all,” said Lovino.

“It's just another precaution for your safety,” said Eduard.

Lovino shuddered. “Safety, my ass. Just remember, if I die, my family will hold the capital responsible! And I mean my _whole_ family.”

“We know, Lovino,” said Eduard. “We know.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Can we just get this stupid class over with? I've got a bedroom ceiling to stare at and clay dolls of Ivan to behead.”

Lovino snickered, but Eduard clicked the 'fine' button.

“Wait, what? _What did I do that time?”_ demanded Alfred.

“You know the rules about how you're supposed to address the prince,” said Eduard.

“Oh, for the love of-” groaned Alfred, but he stopped himself before he ended up swearing. He only had 110 points left, since he'd spent the rest on another pair of leggings. Two more fines, even spread out over the course of a couple days, and who knew what would happen to him? The tortures on the wheel seemed like they could be anything from mundane to positively unbearable, and Ivan could raise the amount of pain he endured until even something mild was practically Hell on Earth.

“Well, let's just get started, then,” said Lovino. He sounded surprisingly happy. “Luckily, I've been given an assistant to handle dinner prep while I'm teaching you, so we can take our time doing easy stuff. I'd give you a pretest to see what you can already do, but I think we saw enough of _that_ shit the other day.”

Alfred chewed his lip. “So, uh, what are the exams gonna be, anyway?”

“This is just a course in the basics,” said Lovino, waving his hand dismissively. “We're not even touching meat until after the first exam, and your first quiz is just on basic knife-work, which we'll be starting with.”

Lovino picked up a knife from the counter and, to demonstrate, rapidly cut a tomato up into even slices. Alfred had to admit that it was marginally impressive. How hard could it really be, though? It was just a tomato.

“You see this?” said Lovino. “This is what you should strive for. Nice, even cuts! Now...”

There was clear hesitation in Lovino's eyes as he motioned towards a second knife, which a carrot had been set beside. Alfred took a step towards it, but Eduard grabbed him by the back of his dress.

“Don't approach weaponry until you're explicitly told,” said Eduard.

Alfred frowned, but stopped. At least Eduard hadn't seen fit to just drop him with the click of a button, as the trigger-happy Raivis might have.

“It's fine, he can hold it,” said Lovino. “But you'd better keep a close eye on him, you hear me?”

“Understood,” said Eduard.

At last, Alfred picked up the knife. Lovino approached him warily.

“Okay, so to start out, you want to hold the knife like this. No, don't put your finger over the blade, stupid!”

Surprisingly, the lesson went better than Alfred had expected. At first, he'd tried to chop with the same speed that Lovino had, but he'd only succeeded in slicing open his finger. Several paper towels, bandages, and a scolding later, and he'd been back to work learning the basics of proper technique at a snail's pace. It wasn't thrilling, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was _something,_ and it kept his mind off of everything else.

Keeping his mind off of the things troubling him had always been his preferred method of coping with hardship.

Just like with the chores, Alfred found himself genuinely distressed when 'class' came to an end. Which was shocking, because he still wasn't all that fond of Lovino.

“Keep it up, and you might just pass the quiz,” said Lovino as Eduard prepared to lead Alfred away. “Well, before you lose a finger, anyway.”

Alfred attempted to blow a raspberry at him, but his tongue just pressed up against the bars of his muzzle. “I'll pass your stupid class with an 'A!' Just wait and see!”

Wait a second, since when was he sticking around that long? The course was twenty classes. That would take at least a couple weeks, even if he took a class every day. Sure, the number of points he could earn for completing it were high, but it wasn't worth sticking around that long. Not when Ivan could decide at any moment that he was going to- _uhg,_ no, he had to get out of there before that time came.

“We'll see about that,” said Lovino, sounding unconvinced.

Alfred twiddled his thumbs as Eduard led him back upstairs. He'd acquired quite a few leggings, and even created a mold of Raivis' fingerprint, but he was still having difficulty losing as much weight as he needed to. His will to resist food had never been good, and for as disgusting as the kibble was, he couldn't help but keep binging every now and again out of sheer hunger. Hopefully, it wouldn't slow things down too much.

Ivan greeted them at the door. Alfred wasn't even surprised to see him anymore.

“Oh, Alfred! Back so soon?” said Ivan. He ruffled Alfred's hair. Any other time, Alfred might have made a go for his fingers, but the muzzle made things difficult. “How did you do?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” spat Alfred.

Eduard passed the remote off to Ivan, who ushered Alfred back into the room without another word. As soon as the door had been closed, he pulled him into a hug.

“Your finger is all bandaged up! What happened?” asked Ivan, and Alfred was disturbed by how concerned he sounded.

“Uh, I got a cut? Duh,” said Alfred. He didn't try to squirm his way out of Ivan's grip. It would only get him fined, as he'd been warned the last time he tried.

“You poor thing,” said Ivan, nuzzling the top of his head. “You must be in so much pain!”

“Oh. Uh, I guess it stings a little,” said Alfred, willing to say whatever it took to get Ivan off of him.

“You disinfected it, right?”

Alfred blinked. “It's just a little cut.”

It was too late. Ivan dragged him to the bed and pushed him down. Initially, Alfred was terrified of the implications, but rather than climb on top of him, Ivan opened up one of the drawers to pull out what looked like a spray bottle and a fresh roll of bandages.

“Here we go!” said Ivan. He set them down and gently took Alfred by the hand to unwrap the bandages. The chains around his wrists jingled. Alfred shifted uncomfortably, but remained still while Ivan examined the injury. There was still some blood on the bandages, but it appeared to have stopped bleeding. “Oh, that must have been painful. Keep still, this might sting a little.”

Alfred hardly winced when the stinging liquid was sprayed onto his cut. Compared to the other crap he'd endured under Ivan, it hardly even qualified as pain.

“Are you feeling well, Alfred?” asked Ivan while he wrapped the bandages. “Your food bowl has been emptying only sporadically, and you haven't asked for anything but kibble. It looks like you're losing a bit of weight, too.”

Alfred did his best not to let his surprise show. He hadn't even considered that Ivan would notice. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Oh, my stomach is just a little churn-y...”

“I see,” said Ivan. He appeared thoughtful. “Maybe it's just nerves. It isn't healthy for someone your age to be so anxious all the time.”

 _'And whose fault do you think that is?'_ Alfred wanted to scream, but he refrained. Ivan had just handed him an excuse on a silver platter.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Hm, so compliant today. You've been very good as of late,” said Ivan. He pressed his lips to Alfred's newly-bandaged hand. “Perhaps you're seeking out a reward?”

Alfred cringed. “N-no!”

“Oh, don't get so worked up. You need to relax, remember?” said Ivan, stroking his cheek. He leaned forward and pinned Alfred to the bed. Though he tried to fight back, his recent eating habits were catching up to him, and he found that he didn't have the energy.

“Get off!” he growled.

“You wouldn't believe how much I want to take you right now,” whispered Ivan into his ear.

Alfred felt about ready to throw up. He could only hope the projectile vomit would be enough to spoil Ivan's libido.

“No, stop!”

“I will, on one condition,” said Ivan. “You've been very stubborn about how you address me, pet.”

“I-I haven't broken the rules!”

“But you've exploited loopholes, haven't you, pet?” said Ivan. “Rather than call me master, you've just avoided addressing me as much as possible. From now on, every time I give you an order or tell you something, I want you to say, 'Yes, Master,' or 'I understand, master.' Is that clear?”

Alfred would have bitten him if it weren't for the muzzle. “Nngh!”

“I just gave you an order, Alfred.”

Ivan's hands slid up his thigh.

“Yes, master!” Alfred relented at last.

“There you go!” said Ivan. He took a step back, and Alfred immediately got to his feet. “Return to your cage and lay down in bed so I can remove your uniform.”

Alfred turned around, but Ivan gripped his shoulder.

“Yes, master,” murmured Alfred bitterly.

“Good boy.”


	11. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the frequent hiatuses, guys. Trust me, I'd much rather be working on this than what I'm stuck with. Homework, finals, group projects, presentations... Bleh. Can't wait until winter break. Anyway, I'm gonna try to put together a concrete outline in order to figure out exactly how many more chapters I'm gonna need for this story. I mean, we're already above the length of an average novel. I'm not saying that I'm just completely making this stuff up as I go along - I know what's gonna happen and how it's gonna end - but I don't know exactly how many words or chapters it's gonna take to get there, if that makes any sense.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all of the comments you guys leave, both critical and complimentary! Please, don't be afraid to be critical! I really won't bite. I really DO want to improve, and your opinions are all perfectly valid. Don't be afraid to voice them. As long as you're not being pointlessly cruel, it's totally welcome.

He was tired. So tired. All the time.

“A-alfred, is something wrong?” asked Raivis.

Alfred couldn't answer. He was too busy staring blankly at the wall as though it had all of life's answers, feather duster in hand. Heh, feathers. Like a big, feathery chicken for him to sink his teeth into...

“You've been acting very strange lately,” said Raivis.

“Huh?” said Alfred, snapping out of his daze. “I'm on it, Mat- Raivis.”

“You usually finish dusting really fast, but yesterday, it took you a half an hour to finish one cabinet!” said Raivis. “And you keep spacing out!”

Alfred stumbled backwards as though he were drunk, struggling to keep his eyes open. It felt as though someone were trying to pinch them shut. Pinch them shut... Pinch of salt... Salty chips beside a delicious, juicy burger...

“Dunno what you're talking about,” slurred Alfred sleepily. “Whattaya mean? I'm fine.”

“You're _not_ fine!” argued Raivis. “You look about ready to collapse! I'm taking you to see a doctor!”

Alfred was tired, not intoxicated. He recognized damn well that if Ivan thought he was undernourished, force-feeding was a distinct possibility.

“I am!”

“You're definitely not!” said Raivis, opening the door. “Come on!”

“No!”

“Now!”

_“No!”_

“I'll fine you!”

Damn it.

Alfred reluctantly followed Raivis out the door and down the hall. Concerned as he was, he tried to at least keep himself somewhat productive by attempting to map out the new sections of the castle that they were traversing in his head. If something went wrong with the first escape plan, he was going to need a back-up.

The medical wing felt distinctly familiar to him, but it took him a moment or two to figure out why. Alfred stared down at the clean white floor and clenched his fists. He could tell by the patterns on the ceiling and wall that it was the same room he'd had that accursed device implanted in. The sights had been forcefully carved into his brain by trauma. Raivis checked him in at a front desk and escorted him down a hall in the back to a closed-off room.

Alfred reluctantly hoisted himself up onto a table for examination, whereupon his body was shut down in order to mitigate any risk to the doctor. He'd never liked hospitals, but his distaste was very quickly turning into all-out uneasiness. It was bad enough to have strangers feel him up during the check-ups Arthur kept dragging him to after every fight, but at least he'd always felt like he could theoretically get out of the situation.

He was all too relieved when the doctor turned out to be only slightly less baby-faced than Raivis.

“Good morning,” he greeted as he tugged his gloves on. “I'm Doctor Tino Väinämöinen!”

Alfred's eye twitched. “Yeah, no way in Hell am I ever gonna be able to pronounce that.”

“Oh, well, you can just call me Doctor Tino, then!” said Tino, as though it hadn't bothered him in the slightest. His gentle voice and demeanor immediately had Alfred feeling at ease, as though all of his worries had been unfounded. “Please make yourself comfortable. Berwald should be here momentarily!”

“Berwald?”

“The nurse,” clarified Tino. “We don't usually have so many people for a simple check-up, but the prince insisted that if you were ever to come here, we were to take all conceivable measures in the name of your safety.”

That would have been a really sweet gesture, were it not coming from the man responsible for about 99.9% of all of his misery and discomfort.

“Well, and also because he just refuses to leave my side,” added Tino, sounding mildly annoyed.

“Oh,” said Alfred. Some clingy type with a crush, maybe? Well, if the nurse was anything like Tino, they couldn't possibly be all that-

The next figure to walk through the door was about as tall as Ivan, and just as intimidating. The only difference was that while Ivan only occasionally allowed his sadistic side to really bleed through his cheerful facade,  _ this  _ person didn't appear to be bothering. He just looked perpetually pissed off.

“Ah, Nurse Berwald, you're here!” said Tino.

Alfred slammed his head against the back of the table.

Of. Fucking.  _ Course. _

“You've  _ got  _ to be kidding me!” groaned Alfred. “Okay, you know what? Let's just get this over with.”

Raivis didn't seem particularly frightened of Berwald, oddly enough. He calmly stepped back to allow him to get to Tino's side. Alfred allowed himself to hope that maybe Berwald was just a sufferer of Resting Bitch Face. Still, he seemed to be glaring down at him rather intensely, to the point that a single bead of sweat began to fall down Alfred's forehead.

“Don't lay a hand on my wife,” he said darkly.

“Wait, what?”

“He's immobile, Berwald,” Tino assured him. “He can't hurt me.”

Berwald straightened his back, but continued to loom behind Tino in a way that resembled a bodyguard more than a nurse.

“Is  _ everyone  _ in this castle convinced that I'm a murderous maniac?” demanded Alfred.

“More or less,” said Raivis from the corner, but Alfred's angry stare quickly shut him up.

“Now, now, what have I said about politics in the clinic?” said Tino firmly. “Now shush, both of you. Murderous maniac or not, I have a patient to attend to.”

Alfred groaned, but it didn't stop Tino from slowly removing all of his clothing.

“So, what seems to be the problem, Raivis?” asked Tino in the process.

“He seems very tired and weak,” said Raivis. “I thought he might be sick.”

Alfred's stomach growled, and he mentally cursed his traitorous body.

“I see,” said Tino. He pulled the dress from Alfred's body and handed it to Berwald, then placed his gloved hands on his torso to give it a look-over. It took everything he had not to giggle reflexively in response to the sensation of being tickled. “And those are the only symptoms?”

“Dizziness, too,” said Raivis. “He keeps losing his balance.”

“I just didn't sleep last night! God!” said Alfred. “Just let me get back to work! I've had enough of people staring at me naked!”

“Well,” said Tino, flat-out ignoring Alfred, “I believe I can see the problem. Do you see this?”

He traced his hand along Alfred's ribcage.

“What about it?”

“What has he been eating lately?” asked Tino. “He appears to be in the early phases of starvation.”

“What?” said Raivis, shocked. “But he always has access to food!”

“I'm not starving!” argued Alfred hastily. “I'm just physically fit, that's all!”

Tino ignored him. “Well, I can't tell you the reason behind it, but the symptoms you've been describing are definitely the result of malnutrition. His muscles are already breaking down, and he's gotten quite bony. If you're sure he's being fed, I could have some bloodwork done, and maybe test for parasites, but the most likely explanation is just that he hasn't been eating.”

Of course he had no parasites. How could he have possibly gotten a parasite? If they figured out he was starving himself intentionally, he was in big trouble. Alfred struggled to find the words to convince them not to inform Ivan of the problem.

“I don't know if I can make those kinds of decisions for him,” said Raivis. “I, umm, I should really ask Prince Ivan. Oh, but he's in a meeting right now, isn't he? Umm...”

“It's not that bad yet,” said Tino. “We can probably afford to wait on a decision until the prince is free. For now, though, it's probably best if he just rests.”

And that was how Alfred ended up back in his cage in the middle of the day under careful supervision by Raivis. For what felt like an eternity, he sat there, quietly playing around with clay and desperately trying to cobble together some excuses. He couldn't say that he was sick, or they would probably have him tested. Ordinarily, that would mean waiting for lab results, but somehow, Alfred had a feeling that Ivan would find a way to skip him ahead of everyone else in line, if he didn't have a person on staff to do it in-house.

When Raivis left him alone to go fetch Ivan, he felt about ready to throw up from the anxiety. It was a strange sensation that he'd never experienced before, but for some reason, his throat just felt like a pump only seconds away from working in reverse. Which was odd, because he was freaking starving. Literally.

He couldn't hope to get out. He wasn't skinny enough yet. Even if he were, the cast he'd made for Raivis' fingerprint wasn't enough to get him through the scanner. He needed something that could be safely molded and peeled out without sticking to it, as the clay would if it were to harden in there. Something like plastic, or wax. Alfred had pored through the crafting materials available to him numerous times, but there was nothing of the sort inside of them, nor was there any kind of a tool he could use to melt something of the needed material down.

Alfred winced as the door opened, and curled up into the blanket. Ivan was going to-

“Alfred!” said a distinctly panic-stricken Ivan, rushing over to the cage. “I came as soon as I could! Are you okay? Oh, please tell me you're okay!”

Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but he was promptly interrupted again.

“No! Not another word! I'm taking you back to the clinic right this second!” said Ivan. “No time to get your chains on, I'm afraid. Lay down, I'll carry you.”

He did as he was told, and his limbs were shut off once more. Ivan practically threw the cage door open and scooped him up with the same care one would use to lift the victim of a terrible accident.

“Umm-”

“Don't speak,” ordered Ivan. “You poor thing, I should have had you checked out when you said that you weren't feeling well! It's going to be okay, understand? No need to be afraid. Master isn't going to let anything bad happen to you...”

Alfred tried not to be too obvious about his discomfort as Ivan pressed him into his scarf-covered neck and nuzzled his cheek. He'd just been given an order, and so by Ivan's rules he had to refrain from talking, but the other rule he'd just been given the other day stated that he had to verbally acknowledge commands. What was that thing that Ivan had said about orders conflicting with rules?

Uhg, he hated how much thought he had to give to how to best follow the orders of a person he hated.

“Yes, master,” he said, hoping that was the right response.

“Pet, I appreciate the effort, but immediate orders take priority!” Ivan scolded gently, but he didn't issue a fine. Instead, he hurried through the door and down the hall at a brisk pace, whispering little words of comfort into Alfred's ear.

It was really freaking awkward.

Before he knew it, Alfred was back on the same examination table as before, in much the same position. The only difference was that Ivan had replaced Raivis. At least he'd finally answered the question of who was taller between Ivan and Berwald. Their heights, as it turned out, were completely identical, leaving a potential margin of error based on any extra inches potentially given by shoes.

In other words, he was trying to distract himself before the inevitable fine and punishment.

“Like I said to Raivis, he's displaying signs of starvation,” said Tino, and Alfred had to give him credit for being able to keep a semi-cool head despite being surrounded by people who could probably hand his ass to him on a silver platter, himself included. Not that he would ever hurt a doctor, but Tino clearly didn't know that.

“Nonsense,” said Ivan. “His kibble is packed with all of the vitamins and nutrients needed to stay healthy!”

“Yes, but has he been  _ eating  _ it?”

“I, uh,” Alfred began uncomfortably.

“I want him tested for anything that could possibly impact him in this manner,” ordered Ivan. “No matter how obscure!”

'Oh, so only you're allowed to make me suffer?' Alfred wanted to say, but he found the will to keep his mouth firmly shut. Having all those tests run would take time, no matter who was doing it. Ivan had bought him a few extra days, at least. If he could just slim down a tiny bit more, and get something that could be poured into his print mold, then maybe, just  _ maybe  _ he could get out.

“As you wish. Berwald, could you get the syringe?”

Alfred simply frowned and stared thoughtfully into the wall as Tino felt around for a vein, cleaned the area, tied a tourniquet around his upper arm, and poked the needle through his skin. The process of getting his blood drawn was not unfamiliar to him, and it was about as unpleasant as ever, but it gave him hope that he could get away with a few more days of not eating. Or, if he had to eat, perhaps he could still vomit it back up.

He'd initially assumed that would be the end of it, but it was far from over. When Ivan had requested tests for everything, he'd really meant  _ everything.  _ By the end of the day, Alfred had given a urine sample, had his brain scanned, and been physically examined in just about every conceivable area. Even the most intimate parts of his body had been put on display to check for infections, though he thanked his lucky stars that Tino had managed to convince Ivan to wait for the test results to come back before they stuck anything inside.

Ivan didn't even masturbate to him that afternoon. He only hovered outside his cage, constantly asking him about how he felt and whether he wanted anything. Alfred was coming to realize that he hadn't just been kidding about having an unhealthy obsession. Ivan's affections were dangerous and unhealthy, but he certainly  _ cared,  _ if only for selfish reasons.

Either way, Alfred allowed himself to feel a little relieved. Ivan's doting was annoying, but 'annoying' was better than 'doling out unspeakable agony.'

In fact, if he was really as worried as he claimed...

Alfred internally cringed. Could he really  _ use  _ that? Manipulation wasn't on his list of heroic actions, and it had never been a skill he excelled in, but the way things were going, it was his only choice. Oh, what would Matthew say?

_ Don't come on too strong. He's crazy, but not stupid. He'll get suspicious if you try to be exactly what you know he wants. _

Okay. So no flat-out flirting. He had to be careful. Play it off as 'compliance out of fear and desperation.' Which it sort of was, so it couldn't really be all that hard, right?

“M-master?” said Alfred suddenly. Ivan immediately and excitedly turned his head away from the paperwork he'd been working on at his desk.

“Yes, pet?”

Alfred took a deep breath. “H-hey, you know how costume makers cast liquid latex and stuff for special effects?”

Ivan blinked. “What about it?”

“Is it possible to add some of that to the catalogue?”

“Hmm, I suppose,” said Ivan. “Why?”

Shit, he hadn't really thought that far ahead. “I, uh, I used to watch a show about that stuff with Matthew, and-”

Ivan's eyes seemed to glaze over, as though he'd suddenly become lost in thought. His pale cheeks went pink, and Alfred had a feeling that it didn't signify good, wholesome thoughts.

“Costume make-up...” murmured Ivan.

Shit, he was thinking about something dirty, wasn't he?

“S-so, anyway...”

“Yes,” said Ivan suddenly. “I'll add it to the catalogue as soon as possible, just for you, pet. I'll even get you a 'free sample,' as a reward for coming up with such a wonderful idea!”

“Oh, uh, th-thanks, I guess,” said Alfred awkwardly. That had been easier than he'd initially expected.

Ivan's blush deepened further. “You're very,  _ very  _ welcome!” He giggled delightedly and spun about in his chair while making a heart shape with his fingers.

Alfred did his best not to gag.

 

* * *

 

Toris turned his body to get a better look at himself in the mirror.

Was green his color? He'd never had the greatest sense of style, so it was hard for him to tell. Perhaps it was best to dress up in whatever colors Princess Natalya preferred. But then, what if they didn't look any good on him? Besides, he was pretty certain that she liked purple, and purple was a color associated with royalty. Showing up to a formal gathering like that would be considered presumptuous, at best.

He sighed. Maybe it was best to go with standard, dressy colors.

Someone knocked at his door.

“Please come in,” said Toris, unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror. Would it be best to tie his hair back into a ponytail? Or would the princess prefer it down? Would she even care?

The door opened, and Toris stiffened as Ivan's voice rang through his room.

“Toris!” said Ivan. At least he sounded happy. “I need you to look into costume makeup artists for me!”

Toris knew it was best not to question it, but... “Costume makeup artists?”

“You know, the ones who do monsters in movies and such,” said Ivan. “Don't make any plans yet – we're still quite a ways from that – but look into it and price it out. Remember, it has to be someone with actual skill! If you can find a cheap prodigy new to the business, that's wonderful, but don't be afraid to look into more expensive options if you have to.”

It was a bit early to be making assumptions, but Toris had a feeling he knew what it was for. “Does this have anything to do with Alfred?”

“See, that's why I like you, Toris. You're so quick to pick up on these things!” said Ivan joyously. “Just be mindful that your smart little mouth doesn't get you into trouble at the gala.”

Toris resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. If he could handle Ivan on a bad day, he could deal with just about anything. Knowing when to keep his mouth shut was how he'd gotten a job advising the prince.

“Oh, speaking of the gala-” began Toris, but he wasn't the only one in the room capable of making an educated guess about what people wanted to talk about.

“Princess Natalya's favorite color and style is whatever I happen to be wearing, I'm afraid. Don't worry so much about it,” said Ivan dismissively. He was already on his way back out the door. “What you wear isn't going to make a difference.”

Toris frowned. That made his life a little harder. He couldn't give up, though. It was absolutely imperative that he woo the princess. He couldn't throw in the towel after everything he'd worked for and sacrificed to make it as far as he had.

The door clicked shut once again, and Toris was left alone. He frowned and turned back to the mirror. Whatever Alfred had gotten himself into, it clearly wasn't something he was going to like. Such a pity, too. He was such a nice young man. It was a shame that he'd been pushed into such unfortunate circumstances.

Had he only met the right people, he might not have ended up in such a terrible situation. He could have proven himself such a valuable asset to the army. Perhaps he could have even been awarded a small county. With his charm, marriage into a large, influential noble house would have been a cinch. Maybe even into the royal family.

Revolutions were so much easier from the inside, after all.

Toris frowned at his reflection, unable to so much as meet his own eyes. The rebellion was right about the necessity of change, in his honest opinion, but they were fools if they honestly believed that a revolution could take place in any modern country. As soon as they pushed the royal family too far, they would be wiped from existence. The only reason that they'd lived as long as they had was because the king didn't want to risk letting other nations think that they were an actual threat. It was only a matter of time before more drastic measures were taken.

No, the only way to truly change anything was to use the system to your advantage. Alfred could have accomplished that beautifully, had he only had the proper guidance. Toris could never hope to charm the heir, Katyusha, but Alfred? He might have secured a spot as future king.

Toris exhaled. It was best not to think about what might have been. What was important was that he married Natalya. Princes, even by marriage, had significantly more power than mere advisers.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. With Natalya's support, he was sure that he would be able to convince the king that it looked bad to keep Alfred confined in such a way. Even if a full pardon weren't possible, at least he could get him sent to an ordinary prison.

There was another knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Toris.

The person who entered didn't greet him as he did so. He had a small, unassuming look about him, but Toris recognized his face right away.

“Kiku Honda,” Toris addressed politely. He hadn't expected to see the man responsible for Alfred's capture in Wyv. Debuting at the gala, sure, but why had he traveled to the very same castle that held the person he'd been responsible for catching? If Alfred knew he was there...

“I'm flattered that you recognize me,” said Kiku. Toris forced himself to smile. Ivan hadn't been kidding when he'd said that his monotone would unnerve a robot. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, yes, a pleasure,” said Toris awkwardly. “If I may be so bold, what brings you to Wyv? And to my room, no less?'

“I was told that you were the prince's steward and primary adviser,” said Kiku, stepping inside. “As such, it is only natural to introduce myself to you, as a new member of the advising panel.”

It took a moment for Kiku's words to sink in.

“I'm sorry?”

“From here on out, I will be Prince Ivan's new spymaster,” said Kiku, his tone as unenthusiastic as ever. “I look forward to working with you."

 

* * *

 

“Have a good day, pet,” said Ivan. “Try to eat breakfast, okay? I love you!”

Alfred only scowled in response, but it was only halfheartedly. He was still angry, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to make it known through his every action. Much as he hated the routine he'd settled into, constantly fighting back to absolutely no avail was taking more of a toll on him than he'd expected. He got up, did his chores (but no more than two a day, and only at a relaxed pace, at Ivan's insistence; more than anything else, it was just to give him an opportunity to get up and walk around), then settled back into his cage to nap. Ivan exempted him from class for the week to 'recuperate,' which was beyond a relief, since Alfred was pretty sure the slightest whiff of food would send him into a complete frenzy.

Ivan hurried back through the door.

“Oh, Alfred, I almost forgot! I got you your liquid latex,” said Ivan, passing it through the doggy door. The same door that Alfred was almost sure he could fit through. “Poor thing, you look positively awful. Can you still not eat?”

“I-I ate a little,” said Alfred. It wasn't a lie. He was indeed eating a little every day, just to keep himself going. “I can't...”

“Most of the test results have come back negative,” continued Ivan. “I'm going to take them in to check your restraining device tomorrow, just to make sure it isn't messing too much with your brain chemistry. If that still doesn't give us any conclusive results, I'm going to hook you up to an IV. Not getting all the nutrients you need for too long can lead to organ failure. I'm not going to take that risk.”

_ Oh. That's thoughtful of him. _

Wait.

Alfred's jaw trembled as Ivan stood and turned to leave for the second time. What the hell?  _ What the hell?  _ Had he  _ really  _ just felt  _ gratitude?  _ Honest-to-God, non-sarcastic  _ gratitude? _

He needed to get out of there.  _ Now. _

The moment Ivan was out the door, he pulled the cast of Raivis' fingerprint from underneath his pillow. Still intact. That was good. Alfred set it on the ground and filled the tiny divot with liquid latex. It would take some time to dry. He wouldn't be able to get out before nightfall. But then, that was the best time to leave, anyway.

Raivis arrived to guard him. He greeted him politely and did his chores without a complaint, though even the slightest bit of exertion had him out of breath and needing to sit for a moment or two to recover. Then Eduard came to take over. He allowed himself to eat a large lunch both to give him a boost of energy for the night, and to make it look like he was recovering so Ivan wouldn't take any drastic action. From that point on, he napped, until several hours later when Ivan returned and woke him up. He listened quietly as he was congratulated for his gradual recovery, and ate a little more kibble as he was read to.

“But every time Tony struggled, the chains binding him to the chair only squeezed him tighter. He refused to accept the futility of his efforts. Freedom had seemed so very close, but every time he thought it was within reach, it darted out of his grasp. Perhaps, he thought, it was simply impossible, like trying to catch smoke in ones' hands. Perhaps, he finally considered, it was time to give up. And so ends chapter twelve!”

“No! Don't give up, Tony!” said Alfred, rocking back and forth in his bed, a pillow clutched tightly to his chest.

“Now, now; it's time for sick little pets to go to bed,” said Ivan. “You've been making great progress towards recovery, Alfred, but you need your rest.”

Ivan put the book away, then – much to Alfred's surprise – headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Alfred.

“I'm afraid I have a meeting to attend to that's going to last quite late into the night,” said Ivan. “If you feel in any way like you're getting worse, don't hesitate to request a check-up. The nearest patrol will come to escort you to the clinic immediately.”

So he wouldn't be able to kill him in his sleep on his way out. That was unfortunate. On the other hand, in his weakened state, Ivan would have easily overpowered him upon waking up. If anything, it was lucky that he would have one less risk factor to deal with. Was fate finally smiling down upon him?

“If you'd like, though, I can have someone check up on you every fifteen minutes or so.”

“Oh, no,” said Alfred, a little too quickly. “I don't want people watching me while I sleep.”

“Hm, as you wish,” said Ivan. “Sleep tight!”

Alfred put his head down and closed his eyes. He didn't open them for a long time, not even after Ivan and his guards had filed out of the room. There was no guarantee that someone _wasn't_ going to check up on him. Even if they didn't, it was still too light out. The sun was only beginning to set, and the stars remained invisible.

Once he was sure that no one was coming, Alfred sat up.

It was time to prepare.

He began work on the rope, first. Each leg of the leggings were secured to the next for maximum length. Alfred tied the knot as tightly as he could in his deteriorated condition, but he couldn't hope to pull with the same strength that he normally had. The muscles he'd worked so hard to build barely existed anymore. Just tying a single knot took a significant chunk of his energy.

Alfred steadied his shaking hands. He could always get his muscles back. It was his life that he worried about.

By the time he was done, the sky had already vanished from the sky. In only a few minutes, he would be protected by the black of night. Alfred balled up the legging rope and pushed it out the doggy door of his cage, followed by his latex-filled cast of Raivis' finger.

“Let's do this,” he breathed.

Carefully, he pushed his hands through the doggy door. Then his arms, followed by his head.

Alfred tried to calm himself as his shoulders got caught on either side. As he was, that was about the widest point of his body. If he could get his shoulders through, he could pull himself all the way.

He angled his body diagonally in such a way that his shoulders were pushing against the corners. Still, his body refused to budge. Alfred pulled himself back into the cage. It was tight, but he knew he could make it. He just had to be a little more slippery.

Alfred hurried to the hand-washing station and, by sticking his hands in and rubbing them all over his body, began to coat himself in soapy water. It dripped and pooled on the floor, soaking his bed, but that wasn't his problem anymore. He set himself back down and made another go at squeezing through.

It hurt. The bars pressed tightly against his skin, and there was almost no give. He wiggled and squirmed, and his body slowly, _slowly_ edged forward, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. The pain was immense, but his heart burned with an inferno of determination.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I can do this!_

POP!

He bit into his tongue to silence himself as his left shoulder dislocated. He'd had worse injuries. Ivan had been responsible for many of them. It was best to just be thankful it wasn't his dominant arm.

Once his shoulders were through, the rest of him was a breeze, by comparison. Alfred let out a sigh of relief as he finally managed to sit up outside his cage, and took a moment or two to catch his breath.

Only a moment or two, though. He couldn't afford to stop for longer than that.

Alfred reluctantly took his arm and, in a few horrible jerks, _popped_ his shoulder painfully back into place.  He knew that it was best to wait for a doctor (or at least another person) to take care of it in order to keep anything from getting pinched between the bones, but he didn't have that luxury right then.

Still panting, Alfred took the cast and gingerly approached the balcony door, rope ball under his arm.

“Please don't rip,” he whispered to the latex as he slowly peeled it from the cast. By some miracle, it stayed in one piece, and Alfred grinned. “Yes, yes, _yes!”_

The floor creaked slightly as his weight shifted forward, and he practically jumped out of his skin in a panic.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _No more talking out loud._

There was just one more thing that he had to do. One more big risk to overcome, and from there, he could relax.

Alfred gently pressed the latex print up against the scanner.

 _“Scanning error,”_ said the door. _“Try again.”_

“No, no, no!” said Alfred, already forgetting the thought he'd had only seconds ago. He tried again, and got another error message.

_“Scanning error. Attempts remaining: 2.”_

“Attempts remaining?” said Alfred, eyes wide.

_“Scanning error. Attempts remaining: 1. If your next attempt is unsuccessful, the door will be securely locked, and a handyman will be automatically called to your location.”_

Alfred took a step back.

If he screwed up one more time, he would be caught for sure. Ivan would see that he suffered for trying to leave. But if he went back to his cage, no one would ever have to know that he got out.

_I could give up. If I give up, nothing will happen to me._

He gritted his teeth.

_As though I could even consider giving it up._

Alfred pushed the latex against the scanner again and _prayed._

There was a tiny beep, and the distinct sound of a latch unlocking. The door swung open automatically. A smile tugged at Alfred's lips as the chilly night air hit his half-naked body, covered only by a pair of leggings that he'd thoughtfully refrained from including in the rope.

_Freedom._


	12. Boxed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the semester is over, but Friday is Christmas, and I'm certainly not gonna be able to update then. What's a girl to do?
> 
> ...Update a day early, of course. Happy holidays, everyone~!

It was cold outside.

Well, perhaps ‘cold’ was a little strong. After all, it would have been a perfectly suitable temperature were it not for the fact that he was practically naked. Skinny and shirtless as he was, however, the chill of an autumn night was enough to have him shivering heavily. Still, at least it wasn’t raining.

Alfred glanced up at the sky, expecting the droplets to start falling any minute.

Fortunately, it seemed that whatever vengeful deity that had it out for him wasn’t on duty that day, and the skies remained clear. Stars glittered in the sky, and Alfred allowed himself a moment to simply drink in the feeling of being outside for the first time since he’d been captured.

Only a moment, of course. Things were going better than he could have hoped, but he wasn’t in the clear yet. Alfred slipped the rope around one of the balcony banisters and tight it as tight as he could. It was a far more difficult task than he’d initially anticipated, seeing as his muscles had withered away. What would have ordinarily been a simple task was so draining that he had to take a moment to catch his breath once he was done.

And that’s when it hit him.

_How am I going to support my own weight the whole way down?_

He hadn’t given any thought to that at any point prior. After all, rope-climbing was a piece of cake compared to some of the crap he’d pulled. Alfred had once scaled a smooth wall with nothing but a pair of long, partially-dulled nails. He’d dragged himself up a cliff with nothing but his bare hands. But his once impressive biceps had withered away, and even pushing open the door took a sizable amount of energy.

Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to _try._

As he wrapped the end of the rope around his waist, hoping to give himself more support, his thoughts went to the device in his neck. He still didn’t have the remote to control it. But then, maybe he didn’t need it. After all, whatever was inside him sounded a fair bit more complicated than, say, a pacemaker. It probably required more power to function. With no simple way of removing it to replace the battery, he could deduce that it had probably been designed in a way so as to conserve power whenever it wasn’t in use.

When Alfred had been young, he’d wondered how a car could be wirelessly unlocked at the push of a button while the vehicle itself was off. Surely, he’d thought, _sensing_ that wireless signal took up power. Matthew had attempted to explain to him how it worked, and while the explanation had mostly gone over Alfred’s head, he wondered if the technology was similar to what was inside him. In that case, wouldn’t the remote have a limited range, just like a car?

It was only a hunch, of course. Alfred’s comprehension of the intricacies of certain technologies was limited. Nonetheless, it was a hope he decided to cling to. If he could just get far enough away before his escape was discovered, maybe Ivan wouldn’t be able to drop him like a sack of potatoes.

Alfred gingerly eased himself over the balcony rail.

“I can do this,” he breathed, clinging to the rope and sliding over the edge.

Gasping for breath, Alfred did his best to hold on at each knot, but his fingers were just so _weak._ Light as he’d become, his whole body felt heavy. He twisted and trembled, but the strain was just too great. Less than halfway down the rope, he lost his grip.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Alfred was convinced he would die. Thankfully, his flailing miraculously appeared to have wrapped the rope around one of his ankles, and he dangled upside-down mere inches off of the ground. It was only after much squirming that he finally got free and collapsed on the soft soil of the courtyard for yet another rest.

Alfred groaned. Since when had he needed so much _rest?_

He struggled to his feet, only to find that the drop hadn’t left him unscathed. The ankle he’d been dangling by was pained and swollen, and putting too much weight on it made it feel as though someone were trying to force his foot up into his leg.

It wasn’t enough to stop him. Undaunted, he pressed forward, limping his way into the courtyard. At first, he’d been concerned that he would be stuck wading through a sea of tall sunflowers, but thankfully, there was a path cutting through the center. Were he not in such a rush, he might have stopped for a moment to appreciate the garden’s beauty. Pearly white benches sat at various points along the way, tinted blue by the faint light of the crescent moon. Tempting as it was to have a seat, Alfred feared that sitting down would cause him to fall asleep.

Several minutes of eerie silence passed, but it wasn’t enough to calm his nerves. There was no way that the prince himself would have neglected to install guards outside. Sure enough, Alfred eventually heard footsteps that sounded as though they were coming down one of the paths splitting off the main one.

Carefully, he ducked into the flowers, doing his best not to visibly disturb them or be too noisy. There were so many things capable of leading to his downfall. Motion sensors. Automatic lights. Sheer bad luck. He could feel his heart in his throat as a uniformed guard walked by.

They kept on walking without so much as a shift in gait. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot, Alfred finally released the breath he’d been holding.

He slipped out from within the flowers and continued at a quiet, but hurried pace through the courtyard. Freedom was so close! He could see the rear gate in the distance! If he could just slip by while no one was looking, he would be in the clear! Tears welled up in his eyes. It was _right there!_

As he moved beyond a certain point, a siren began to blare.

_No, no, no, NO!_

Immediately, Alfred broke into a run. He could hear the sound of commotion from various pathways, and a series of lights flickered on, all honed in on him. Guards seemed to pour out from the various pathways like water, and he quickly found himself surrounded.

“Holy _shit,_ it’s the rebel!” said one of the voices.

“How the hell did he get out?”

“Never mind that, what are we going to _now?_ He’s a fucking _demon!”_

“Shit, someone get the prince!”

Alfred took a deep breath. He was surrounded by people with guns, but he couldn’t throw in the towel. Not yet. He just had to hope his reputation was enough to get him through it, because in his state, he wasn’t even sure he could take on _one_ of them, let alone the whole crowd.

“That’s right, you sons of bitches!” snarled Alfred, even as the guns were all trained on his body. They could kill him at any time, and yet, his sudden outburst seemed to give them pause. Weeks of repressed rage had seeped into his words, to the point that he hardly recognized his own voice. “You think you can hide behind a few guns and get away with your lives? If I weren’t so merciful, you’d all be _dead_ right now!”

“He’s bluffing!” said one of the guards. “He’s been sick! The prince’s personal guards said so!”

“You fucking moron,” said Alfred venomously, turning to face the speaker. “How do you think I got out? It was all an act. I don’t _get_ sick.”

The guards all murmured among themselves. Some even lowered their weapons. Alfred wanted to laugh at their stupidity, but there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that kept him from doing so.

_Just how much of a monster do I think I am that they would be scared of me even now?_

“Now, I’ve got a long, _long_ trip ahead of me, so I’d appreciate it if you guys would let me through without tiring me out,” said Alfred. “But, you know, if you guys _really_ want to die that badly, I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

_Click!_

Oh no.

Alfred’s heart seized as his limbs were forcibly relaxed, and he collapsed in a heap on the ground. A collective sigh of relief was had amongst the guards, even as he let loose a string of curses.

Ivan was going to make him suffer a fate worse than death.

“You fuckers think this is it?” hissed Alfred like a desperate, cornered animal. “You think you’re safe? You think I won’t _remember your faces?”_

Unlike the others, _that_ was not an empty threat. He could see the guards shift uneasily, and he struggled to come up with something else to add.

“I’ll tell you what, boys,” said Alfred. “Get me back to Ephenette, and you’ll be welcomed as heroes. Stand there and let Ivan take me, and I will personally _tear you apart one limb at a time!”_

“That will be quite enough, Alfred.”

Alfred’s jaw clenched as a soft, cheerful voice rang out over the whispered voices of the guards.

 _“Ivan,”_ he growled.

“I believe I told you to call me ‘master,’ pet,” said Ivan, easily pushing his way through to crouch down over Alfred’s crumpled form. A cocky smile was plastered onto his face, which only increased Alfred’s desire to punch it into unrecognizability. At the very least, Toris had come with him, and was giving Alfred a sympathetic look from off to the side. “My, my. You’ve been a very naughty boy this evening, haven’t you?”

Alfred’s jaws snapped at his legs.

“Still trying to bite me? Have you learned nothing?” sighed Ivan. “Oh, woe is me, back at square one! But really, Alfred, did you really think me so foolish as not to be aware of what you were planning?”

Alfred’s eyes widened.

“You poor, stupid thing,” said Ivan almost affectionately. “It was so very obvious. The nonexistent illness. The leggings. The sudden and inexplicable desires for clay and latex. Why did you think that I decided not to sleep in my room the night of your attempt? I’d hoped you would smarten up and change your mind, but, well, here we are.”

“No,” said Alfred softly. He’d known all along? He’d known _all along?_ Everything he’d done, everything he’d hoped for…

“Yes, Alfred, I’m afraid your efforts were all entirely futile,” said Ivan, gently petting his head. “But then, they would have been even if I hadn’t known. I suppose I should have told you this earlier, but your restraining device has an unlimited range, numerous back-up remotes, and a GPS. I can bring you down and find you _anywhere you go,_ pet. There is _no escape,_ understand? _You belong to me.”_

Alfred’s lower lip trembled.

“Now come, pet,” said Ivan as he lifted Alfred up off of the ground. “I trust you know what happens next.”

He really _was_ a hopeless idiot, wasn’t he?

 

\- - -

 

Alfred wasn’t sure what to make of the room in the dungeon that he’d been brought to. There were no obvious implements of torture in sight, save for a few medical-y devices and a box in the center that looked suspiciously like an open coffin.

Ivan set him down naked inside of it, and Alfred grimaced. There were no spikes, or anything obvious like that. If anything, the bottom was actually quite comfortable. Were they going to come out of the walls when the lid was shut?

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me,” said Alfred, though his voice was hollow and lifeless.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. I would never kill you,” Ivan assured him. Alfred found his arms and legs being locked securely into place by surprisingly comfortable restraints. It wasn’t painful, but he couldn’t move so much as a millimeter. “Welcome to The Box, pet. It’s a very special kind of torture reserved for very heinous offenses, as it tends to damage the mind when applied for too long.”

So it was the torture that Princess Natalya had mentioned over video chat. So far, it wasn’t looking too bad, but Alfred had been around Ivan long enough to know that appearances could be very deceiving.

Ivan stepped back, and a handful of uniformed workers took to prepping him for whatever was to come. An IV was poked through a hole in the side of the box and slipped into his wrist. His mouth was forced open for a tube to be inserted, and he gagged as it was forced down his throat. A feeding tube? More were inserted into his nostrils and secured there by a strap around his head, forcefully inflating and deflating his lungs with the oxygen he could no longer get through his mouth.

Even after Ivan allowed his limbs to move again (as much as they _could_ move in the restraints, anyway) he found his whole body going numb, most likely from the IV. That was odd. How was he supposed to be tortured if he couldn’t feel pain? He hardly even noticed until it was too late that there was yet another tube being pushed through his ‘back door,’ causing him quite a bit of distress, especially when it was joined by a catheter up his urethra.

The sheer amount of tubing hooked up to his body was enough to make Alfred feel like he was part robot. Well, at least emotionally, because soon he realized that he couldn’t physically feel much of anything at all. All of his senses seemed to be fading away, though he was still completely conscious. Soon Alfred couldn’t even feel the restraints or the cushions beneath him. He wanted to ask what was going on, but with his mouth as full as it was, that was impossible.

Thankfully, or not so thankfully, Ivan seemed keen on explaining, anyway.

“The exact name of this torture is called ‘sensory deprivation,’” said Ivan. “A long, long time ago, it used to be done by simply restraining someone in a dark, quiet box. However, with modern technology, we’ve reached the point that we can enhance it by depriving an individual of their sense of touch using chemical means. We can even continue it for longer without the risk of you starving to death or otherwise being distracted from the experience by hunger by using feeding tubes!”

Alfred crinkled his nose.

“Oh, the drug you’re being given leaves you unable to breathe on your own, so you have to be hooked up to a machine to do that for you,” said Ivan. “So just sit back, relax, and enjoy the next- oh, however long I’ve decided to keep you in there.”

And with that, a pair of earmuffs were placed over his head to block out the sound, and the box was slammed shut, leaving Alfred alone in the dark with nothing – truly _nothing –_ except his thoughts.

 

 - - -

 

The moment the box was shut, Ivan burst into a fit of giggles.

“Umm, my prince…?” said Toris warily. “Are you okay?”

“I almost _died,”_ said Ivan, as though it were the funniest thing in the world. “Can you believe it, Toris?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you,” said Ivan through laughter. “I completely lied about knowing he was going to escape; it was all strictly to crush his ego, you see. It’s true that it was probably obvious, but, well, you know what they say about hindsight! To think that he managed to squeeze through the doggy door of his cage! I’ll have to have someone come by to fix that while he’s in the box.”

Toris’ jaw dropped. “So when you said you’d intentionally left your room…”

“Sheer dumb luck that I had a meeting that night,” admitted Ivan, but he didn’t sound ashamed. Rather, he spoke as one might speak shortly after coming off of a roller coaster. As though the experience had been a cheap thrill. “Can you imagine what might have happened if it had been postponed? He would have killed me in my sleep! Ha! I’ll have to be more careful in the future!”

“A-are you sure you don’t want to put him in another room?”

“Aww, Toris, don’t tell me you’re concerned for my well-being!” said Ivan. He smiled down at Toris, who shivered under his gaze. “I’m flattered, but I couldn’t possibly do that. Didn’t I tell you before? The danger is half the fun!”

“B-but if you die-”

“If I die, I won’t be around to deal with the consequences,” said Ivan. “Don’t worry, Toris. I’ll give you something nice in my will, just in case! Knowing that, I’m sure you’ll be less inclined to inform my family of my near-death experience, hm?”

Toris shifted uncomfortably and pulled his tablet closer to his chest, unsure of just how he was expected to respond to such a statement.

“Because if they _were_ to find out and attempt to take him from me, I’ll just have to find a new pet. Someone more _compliant._ Maybe a nice brunette with pretty green eyes!”

Frightened, but unsurprised, Toris forced himself to smile.

“I’m, err, very flattered to be included in your will, my prince.”

“Well, how could I leave out my favorite adviser?” said Ivan placing a hand on Toris’ shoulder. “You’re a smart man, Toris. Keep up the good work.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you.”

 

 - - -

 

Being trapped in a box was really freaking boring.

Initially, Alfred had been quite relieved to learn that his horrible punishment for attempting to escape had been so minor. As time went on, however, he was beginning to question his initial judgment of the situation.

How long had he been in there? He had no way of knowing. He couldn’t see, hear, feel, taste, or smell a thing. The earmuffs were structured in such a way that he couldn’t even hear the echo of his own blood rushing through them, and the machine filling and draining his lungs was eerily silent. It was a time-out on steroids, and from the fact that he’d been hooked up to feeding tubes and waste removal devices, it was obvious that Ivan intended to keep him there for quite some time.

Time passed. Alfred tried to move, but he couldn’t see or feel, leaving him unable to tell if it was actually making a difference.

Time passed.

Alfred’s thoughts began to wander. How was Matthew doing? And Arthur, and Francis? Were they all okay? Was Matthew still fighting? He wasn’t sure he wanted Mattie on the battlefield when he wasn’t even around to protect him. What if he-

No. He had to avoid those thoughts. Avoid, avoid, avoid!

But his thoughts were literally _all he had._ There were no distractions. No holes on the ceiling to count. No thumbs to twiddle. Nothing to tear him away from the horrifying mental image of his brother slowly bleeding to death on the battlefield, his body lain atop a pile of the corpses of all of his friends.

_How long has it been? How much longer will I be here?_

Time passed.

He tried to imagine the voices of his friends and family, hoping it would provide some comfort. What would they say? It was all in his head, of course, but then, so was everything, making it about as real as anything else.

“You tried your best, lad,” said Arthur.

“Come here and let papa give you a hug, won’t you?” said Francis.

“It’s okay,” said Matthew. “You’re not a failure. It’s okay.”

Alfred tried to believe that those were the things that they would say, but there were other voices mixed in. Similar voices. The same voices. But _different._

“You’re a complete disgrace,” said Arthur.

“I can’t even look at you anymore. Disgusting,” said Francis.

“You’re so worthless,” said Matthew. “Begging for your life when you should have just killed yourself. Submitting when you should have _died.”_

They were hurting him. The words raked across his chest like long, twisted claws, tearing him open and eating him alive. He couldn’t feel, but they pained him all the same. They were filling his whole chest with maggots. The maggots were devouring him from the inside. Everything hurt. Everything was dark. Where was he? Why were they hurting him?

Time passed.

The shadows were seeping into the gaping cavity that had once held his organs. They scooped away the maggots and tore at his ribs.

“It’s fine,” said the shadows. “You’ll survive this. You’ll survive this because you’re a demon, and demons live by stealing the lives of others.”

“How long has he been a demon?” said Matthew.

“Who knows? Maybe forever.”

 _Stop,_ thought Alfred. _Please stop._

“Make me,” said the shadow.

Time passed.

 _This is all a dream,_ thought Alfred.

“Is it?” said the maggots. “How do you know? Maybe you’re still awake. Maybe you’re still asleep. It’s all the same now.”

_I don’t know!_

Time passed.

“Die,” said Matthew. “Die like me. Die like all the others. Die, die, DIE!”

Time passed.

And then there was light.

So much light. Light everywhere. Alfred had to squint his eyes to adjust.

“Good morning, Alfred,” said Ivan. Sleep well?”

Something reached in and pulled something from his wrist. Alfred could only look around wildly, terrified for whatever horrible creature would come next.

“Sssssssh,” said Ivan, gently stroking his hair. “It’s all over now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Alfred could feel mild tugging sensations in his groin and mouth. Soon enough, even the tubes in his nostrils were removed. Several seconds passed before he finally remembered that he had to breathe again.

“I-is this real?” he asked in a small, shaky voice.

Ivan sat him up, pulled him into a hug, and gently stroked his back.

“Yes, it’s real. I’m real. You’re here. You’re okay,” said Ivan. “It’s all better now. Master’s here…”

For a time, Alfred was still, staring at the wall behind Ivan as though it were the only thing that mattered.

Time passed.

 

 - - -

 

His cage seemed so much bigger than it had been before. It wasn’t, of course, but after what he’d just been through, it felt like he was staying in a palace.

After being let out of the box, Ivan had immediately put him to bed. According to him, Alfred had only been in there for three days. Ordinarily, he’d said, sensory deprivation started to cause hallucinations in only fifteen minutes. Extending it too long had the potential to drive somebody to madness, which was why he insisted on using ‘small’ doses.

Small? To Alfred, those three days had felt like an eternity.

He didn’t react to the sound of Ivan entering the bedroom. Instead, he chose to sit quietly on his bed, staring at the floor with an inscrutable expression as he attempted to get his thoughts and emotions in order. His mind was like a jumbled haze, and trying to put the pieces back together felt like fumbling with a puzzle in the dark.

_What do I do now?_

“Oh, Alfred! Guess what I got you!” Ivan practically sang. He pushed a plate of cookies through the doggy door, which had, of course, been altered since his escape. Not only was it smaller, but it was magnetically sealed, just like the main door. A button had to be pressed to unlock it, and Ivan made it a point to ensure that it was secured once the food had been pushed inside.

Delicious as they smelled, Alfred couldn’t find the will to move, let alone to eat. Why bother?

“Are you okay, pet?” asked Ivan. Ordinarily, Alfred would have shot him an angry look, but even that seemed beyond his capabilities. “No, I don’t think you’re okay.”

Ivan shut down Alfred’s body, which resulted in him silently flopping over. He opened the cage door and stepped forward, where he took a seat beside Alfred and pulled him onto his lap.

 _Bite his neck, tear his throat out,_ whispered a gleeful voice in Alfred’s mind.

 _It won’t work any differently than the last time we- the last time that I tried,_ said the portion of his brain that he was beginning to think of as marginally less idiotic than the rest of him. _What’s the point of doing it again?_

Ivan stroked his hair and nuzzled his cheek. Alfred sat as unresponsively as a doll.

“I love you very much,” said Ivan. “Do you understand? I do this for you, to keep you safe. I wish I could prove to you how much I hate to see you suffer. I wish you understood how much I hate being forced to hurt you in order to teach you how to behave yourself.”

Alfred simply let his head loll off to the side.

“You didn’t try to snap at me. Good boy,” said Ivan, clicking a button on the remote. Alfred could feel a rush of satisfaction in his head.

The fact that it was the only emotion he could clearly distinguish from the others frightened him.

“You must be very tired of being holed up in this room,” continued Ivan. “You haven’t purchased a single walk since you came here. Don’t worry, though, I’ve already added daily physical therapy to your schedule in order to help you recover. The cocktail of drugs you’ve been given should have prevented some of the atrophying, so you should be fully recovered in only a few short days. Well, you’ll have to do some exercise on your own time to get back all those lovely muscles, of course…”

_Why bother?_

_Kill. Kill. Kill._

_There’s no point to it anymore._

_Kill him now!_

_I can’t!_

“I hate you,” said Alfred, but Ivan only pulled him in tighter.

“I love you,” said Ivan.

_There’s no escape. No way out._

_They’ll come and save me._

_Will they? Will they save someone as worthless as you? And even if they did, it won’t be until after the revolution. Not unless you want someone risking their life to get through enemy lines. Don’t you understand? You’re dead weight. They don’t need you anymore._

_I’m not…_

“Oh, you know what’ll cheer you up?” said Ivan. He picked Alfred up and set him down on the loveseat in front of the television. “Your brother had a speech yesterday. He was surprisingly good. Would you like to see it?”

“M-matthew?” said Alfred hopefully. If he could just see Matthew one last time, it felt like the answer would be clear.

“Here, I had it recorded,” said Ivan. He fiddled with the television remote and went through various menus while Alfred watched in rapt attention. “There we go! You’ll have to forgive me, but due to the security measures taken, we could only get the first few lines of the speech.”

Alfred held his breath as Matthew’s face appeared on screen. He couldn’t help but be awed by his twin’s composure; Matthew had never liked crowds, and speaking in front of them was one of his least favorite things to do.

“Friends, family, brothers and sisters in arms… In this world, sometimes sacrifices are necessary to achieve what’s best for everyone,” said Matthew. He sounded so confident. As though he weren’t talking to thousands of people at once. But how? Since when had Matthew been able to handle public speaking? “Many of you may be wondering how it is that Alfred managed to escape the enemy’s clutches. But I am not Alfred. I will never be Alfred. My name is Matthew Williams, and I am the brother of the man who would ordinarily be standing in front of you right now.

“For many of you, the news of his capture was as devastating a blow as the king intended it to be. They want us to believe that if they can take Alfred, they can take any of us. They want us to believe that what they do to Alfred, they will do to everyone who defies them. They want us to believe that without Alfred, we can’t win this war. But you know what? We don’t need Alfred to move forward! We never did! Alfred’s presence is not the reason for this campaign’s success! Do you think Alfred did everything by himself? Well, allow me to correct you. Alfred has met with success following Arthur and Francis’ plans. Alfred has inspired you with speeches that _I_ wrote. Alfred could not have accomplished any of the things he’s done by himself!”

The video clip ended.

“Well, he isn’t lying,” said Ivan. “Tsk, tsk, tsk! They might get their morale back without you, after all. To think, I may have captured you for nothing! What a tragedy.”

Alfred stared at the screen as Ivan turned the television off once again.

“Oh, don’t worry, pet. I won’t dispose of you just because of that,” said Ivan. “Even if they don’t actually mind what happens to you anymore, I still love you!”

 _They don’t need you,_ said the voice in Alfred’s head.

_No._

_They NEVER needed you._

_No!_

_Look at how well Matthew speaks! He could have taken your place at any time! The only thing you were ever good at was killing._

_I’m not-_

“Ssssssh,” said Ivan, hugging him again. Only then did Alfred realize that he’d begun to cry. “It’s okay. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

Alfred wrapped his arms around Ivan’s waist – how long had his restraining device been turned off? – and sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

 

 - - -

 

"…Alfred could not have accomplished any of the things he’s done by himself! And that’s okay, because you know what? Wars are not fought by lone heroes! Wars are fought by people who unite under the belief that they can make things better! Wars are fought by people who work together and believe in each other! There’s not a person alive who can do those things by themselves! What Alfred _did_ do, though, better than any of us, was to bring out the best in people! He could do that because he always put is all into everything he did! He didn’t make the plans, but he made sure they succeeded! He didn’t write the speeches, but he believed in and put his heart into every last word!

“The royal family believes that they have crippled us. They think we’ve become easy prey! But this is far from over, and we will not go down so easily! We will not be defeated by the loss of one man! We will fight, and we will _win,_ because this isn’t a game with a single chosen hero! This is a war, and every last one of us is important! The true heroes are the ones that choose themselves!”

Matthew released his breath as the crowd began to cheer. It was a good thing that he was so far away from everyone, because he was sweating like crazy. There was a reason that Alfred was always the one to do the public speaking. It didn’t matter how well that Matthew had something memorized; if he had to recite it to too many people at once, he just completely froze up and forgot everything. If Gilbert hadn’t suggested that he prerecord and lip-synch his speeches, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

He retreated inside, where he immediately pulled off his sweat-soaked uniform and collapsed onto the nearest chair.

“You did wonderfully,” said Francis. He held Matthew’s face and gave him a few comforting kisses on each cheek. “Alfred would have been so proud.”

“I hope so,” said Matthew. “I really hope so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping I ruined- I mean, uh, err, DIDN'T ruin somebody's holiday with this. :D


	13. Not the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So the good news is that I got Fallout 4.
> 
> The bad news is that I got Fallout 4.
> 
> I don't think I need to explain why this chapter is a bit, err, short. But in case I do, it's because I wrote most of it today. Eheh. I, uh, I kinda-sorta thought that today was Wednesday.
> 
> Forgive meeeeeeeeee. OTL

_Worthless._

That was what he was.

Alfred hadn't struggled when Ivan had taken him out of his cage to set him on his lap. For what felt like an eternity, he whispered little words of endearment into his ear while nuzzling him and petting his hair. On any other day, it would have been sorely tempting to take the opportunity to go for his throat, but Alfred couldn't find the motivation. He would just fail, after all. He would fail, and he would be punished.

_Worthless. Meaningless. They don't want you. They don't need you. They never did. You never did anything that anyone else couldn't._

"Pretty, pretty pet," praised Ivan. He pulled a brush through Alfred's hair, which was still damp from the shower they'd taken not too long ago. Whenever he met with resistance, he always made sure to hold the hair at the base to keep from pulling painfully at the roots as he undid any tangles. "Hmm, I can't get that cowlick to stay down. Oh well. It's kind of cute that way, I think. Don't you agree?"

"I can't even see," murmured Alfred.

"I know, pet, I know," said Ivan. "I'm sorry, pet, but it's like I told you before; you have to _earn_ those glasses back, understand?"

Alfred continued to stare into the wall. Not only had his glasses been confiscated, but they'd been listed on his GBM for five thousand points. Given that he'd taken to performing at the bare minimum to get by without punishment before retreating back to his cage to wallow in despair, he anticipated that actually regaining them would take quite a bit of time. He supposed he ought to have considered himself lucky they weren't thrown out. He wouldn't put it past Ivan to rid him of the last keepsake he had of his friends and family.

Ivan claimed that it was a simple disciplinary measure. Alfred, however, was convinced it was just another ploy to make him feel even more helpless.

A ploy that was working.

_Your continued existence is just burdening all of the people you care about. They'd be better off without you, but they might try to rescue you out of a sheer sense of obligation._

For as long as Alfred could remember, he'd been woefully nearsighted. His range of clear vision was about an arm's length, at most. Everything beyond that just melted together into one big blur. It was a crippling weakness for anyone who wanted to shoot a gun or fly a plane.

Even Arthur and Francis had once doubted his capacity to join their army.

"I asked if you understood, pet," said Ivan.

"Yes, master."

"Good boy."

Alfred simply leaned into Ivan's embrace. He wasn't in the mood to fight back anymore. Not if it meant having to go back _there,_ into the place where he couldn't just avoid thinking about his problems. The place where all of his fears became reality, and every moment both awake and asleep become a continuous nightmare.

It wasn't just an irrational fear, either. Ivan had been quick to inform him shortly after his 'punishment' had ended that, although running away and murder would _definitely_ lead to time in The Box, it was _also_ one of the possible outcomes for the Wheel of Punishment.

He couldn't disobey. Not when it could send him back there.

_You're not the hero. You were never the hero. Heroes are brave. Heroes don't burden people_

_What am I, then?_

_Isn't it obvious?_

"I think you're almost ready," said Ivan appraisingly, and from the look in his eyes, Alfred didn't have to ask to know what he was referring to. "Maybe tomorrow? Yes, I think tomorrow is good. What do you think, Alfred?"

Alfred couldn't help himself. He laughed. He laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed, until tears streamed down his cheeks. Ivan appeared somewhat confused by such a reaction, but didn't press the issue further. After all, it wasn't as though Alfred actually had any choice in the matter.

_You know what you have to do._

_Yes. Yes, I know._

"I want to go to cooking class tomorrow."

"Cooking class?" repeated Ivan, surprised. "I'm pleased to see you taking a little initiative, but are you sure that you're well enough for it?"

"I'm fine," said Alfred hollowly. "It's not like I was ever sick to begin with."

"Hm, true, but still, you've only been in physical therapy for a few days," said Ivan.

Ah, yes. The physical therapy sessions. They weren't intentionally torturous. In fact, most of the things Alfred had been put through were activities he ordinarily enjoyed engaging in, such as swimming. Still, being forced into them against his will put a bit of a damper on his capacity to have fun. Most of the time was spent with his wrists bound to the handles of a treadmill, or leashed to the center of a pool too deep to stand in. He was always carefully monitored to ensure that he wasn't pushed to his limit, of course – indeed, most of the things he did went on for no longer than a few minutes at a time – but it still chipped away at his dignity.

Ha. As though he had any dignity left.

"I'm fine," said Alfred again. "Please."

"You haven't been doing very well at your chores, either," said Ivan. "Raivis is quite a generous scorer, and he's been giving you 'Poors' across the board."

"I'll do better."

"I just don't want to overwork you if that's really the best you can do right now," murmured Ivan thoughtfully.

"Master," said Alfred. Ivan immediately perked up, as he always did when Alfred addressed him as such. "Please, I just need to feel like I'm accomplishing something. Accomplishing _anything."_

Ivan set the brush aside and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Hm, I suppose we _have_ established that you need to get out of this room more. And maybe doing something a little more interesting than basic chores will get you a little more motivated. Very well. I'll allow you to put cooking classes on your schedule again."

"Thank you, master."

"Ah, I could listen to you say that all day!" said Ivan lovingly. "I'll tell you what. Since you're being so cooperative, why don't I take you on a walk to the gym later? You're slimmed down so much without all those muscles that it's a little disconcerting."

"I don't have the points," said Alfred.

"Don't fret, pet. Consider it a freebie."

Like it even mattered anymore.

"Oh. Thank you, master."

Soon nothing would matter.

Nothing in the world.

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh. You're back," said Lovino, looking up from where he was lazily sorta-kinda wiping off a cutting board. "I was wondering what happened to you. Thought you were supposed to take a certain number of lessons a week."

"You haven't heard?" responded Eduard, sounding shocked. "Alfred escaped again."

"What?" said Lovino, though his surprise was only brief. "Huh. So _that_ was what they were trying to tell me."

Eduard raised an eyebrow.

"My staff," clarified Lovino. "They kept coming to me with these horrified looks on their faces, babbling some nonsense about an escape. I assumed they meant the chickens, so I told them to shut up and stop bothering me during my break before they could say anything else."

"Break?" said Eduard. "Alfred got out while you were still on duty."

"Yeah, and?"

Eduard's brow furrowed. "I suppose it's none of my concern. In any case, due to the circumstances, the prince has requested that today's lesson be a review of prior material before moving on to the next."

"Whatever, I'm getting paid the same either way," said Lovino, not appearing distressed in the slightest as he shoved the sponge and cutting board into the arms of one of the other chefs for them to deal with. "Okay, then, let's look at your knifework. Wait, they didn't do anything to your hands, did they?"

Alfred lifted his hands a little too quickly. "No. I'm fine. I can work."

"Okay, then. Kinda disturbing that I had to ask that, really, but what can you do?" said Lovino, shrugging his shoulders. Alfred blinked. Had he heard that correctly? "That's just the world we live in."

Eduard frowned. "I wouldn't have expected you to sympathize with a mass murderer."

"Look, buddy, I don't get involved in politics, I'm just trying to make a living doing as little as possible," said Lovino. "All soldiering is mass murder to me."

Eduard stormed forward with his hands clenched into fists, and Alfred actually took a step back to stay out of his way as he confronted Lovino, who scrambled backwards until he hit one of the counters.

"Take that back," he said darkly. Alfred had never seen him look so dangerous. It was as though he'd absorbed a fraction of Ivan's creepy aura, which was more than enough to frighten someone like Lovino.

"I take it back!" responded Lovino almost immediately, his eyes wide with terror.

Eduard silently withdrew, giving Alfred a light push forward. "Good. Now begin."

Lovino shivered, even as he muttered a few obscenities under his breath.

"Okay, then," said Lovino, though he still seemed to find something amiss. "You know, you've been awfully quiet, Alfred. You feeling okay?"

Alfred opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"I'm fine," he lied.

"Whatever you say," said Lovino. He picked up a blade and handed it to Alfred. "Now, let me just grab a couple carrots, and we'll go over your-"

The moment the handle was in his hands, Alfred turned the blade towards himself. He could see Eduard's eyes widen as he recognized the intention behind the act, but the button would do no good. Alfred had already thought that much through. With the tip angled at his throat, he allowed himself to fall forward. Even as he felt control of his limbs vanish mid-fall, gravity brought his neck down hard on the sharp blade. Pain exploded in his neck as it sliced into his throat, but it was nothing next to the feeling of vindication. Of _accomplishment._

 _I'm afraid to die,_ he thought as the world began to move in slow motion above him, and his body rolled onto its side. Blood flowed up from his throat and poured from his mouth. It would have choked him, but the knife was already doing a fantastic job of that.

"Holy _shit!"_ he heard Lovino scream. "Oh, fuck, _what do we fucking do?"_

A radio buzzed to life.

"This is Eduard reporting a medical emergency at the kitchen! I repeat, a medical emergency at the kitchen!"

 _Everyone is afraid to die,_ said Ivan's voice in his head. _So what were you so afraid of that you would want to kill yourself?_

"Fucking hell! Alfred, what the fuck were you thinking?" screamed Lovino, reaching for the knife.

 _"Stop!_ Don't pull it out, you idiot!" barked Eduard. "He'll just bleed out faster!"

"He's bleeding _now!"_ said Lovino. "What the fuck? Why the fuck would he- what did you people _do_ to him?"

"It's not under my discretion!"

"Not under your- Fuck, we don't have time for this! Damn it! _Fuck!"_

 _It's better this way,_ thought Alfred. _Now Matthew can take the credit he deserves, and the rebellion won't have to strain itself coming after me._

_Oh? Don't you mean, 'Now I won't have to find out if the rebellion WILL strain itself coming after me?' Don't you mean, 'Now I won't have to live in fear that my friends didn't actually like me?' Don't you mean, 'Now I won't have to suffer this torture anymore?'_

Everything began to fade.

_Yes. That's exactly what I mean._

 

* * *

 

He was running.

Running, and running, and running beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.  He couldn't stop.  He couldn't look back.  He had to keep on running, or they'd take it back.  They'd take it back, and then...

 _"Aha!_ Caught you, you little pickpocket!"

Alfred squeaked as a hand seized his ear.  He thrashed and twisted, trying his best to break free, but he was only eight.  He couldn't hope to match the size and strength of a grown man.

Before he could protest, the wallet was snatched from his hands.  The man released his ear and turned around, clearly expecting that to be the end of it.  But that couldn't be the end of it.  Why didn't he understand?  Alfred _needed_ that money.  _Matthew_ needed that money.  Kids who couldn't get the money together to take care of themselves _disappeared._ 'Runaways,' they were called in the official reports, but Alfred knew better.  He'd seen what happened to those people.  He'd found their bodies.

He and Matthew weren't going to die.  Not like that.

Alfred grabbed the man from behind and attempted to wrestle the wallet away from him.  The man only scoffed and easily pushed him away.

"Persistent little brat, aren't you?" said the man, audibly annoyed.  "It's practically midnight.  Get home before some freak kidnaps you."

Still, Alfred persisted, until the man finally got fed up and seized him by the wrist.

"Now _see here!"_ barked the man.  "You-"

He stopped and gave Alfred's wrist a squeeze.

"You- You're a little thin, aren't you?" said the man.  He crouched down to meet Alfred's defiant glare.  "Where are your parents, lad?"

"None of your business!" spat Alfred, still desperately clawing for Arthur's wallet.  "Give it!"

"Are you one of the orphanage runaways?"

"There aren't any runaways!" snapped Alfred.  "They're dead!  They cut up the bodies and feed 'em to the animals, and the grown-ups are too stupid to figure it out!"

The man's gaze softened.

"I had heard rumors about that place, but..." he murmured while Alfred continued jumping up and down.  With a resigned sigh, he opened up his wallet and pressed a wad of bills into Alfred's hand.  "...Don't spend that all in one place, okay?"

Alfred's eyes widened with shock.  No one had ever just _given_ him money before, and certainly not so much!  He'd never even _seen_ such a huge wad of cash!  "H-huh?"

"I said, 'Don't spend that all in one place.'  That should get you through the next month or so, if you play your cards right," said the man wearily.  "Okay?"

"O-okay," stammered Alfred.  "U-umm, thank you, mister, umm..."

"Kirkland.  You may call me Arthur Kirkland," said the man.  "And you are?"

"Alfred," said Alfred, beaming.  "Thank you, Mr. Kirkland!"

He never questioned why Arthur had been out so late, nor did he wonder what he was doing with so much paper money when most people were content to use cards.  The only thing he could remember thinking at the time was how grateful he was.  Of course, one of the older kids had stolen most of the money the very next day, but for a precious few hours, he and Matthew had felt something vaguely resembling security.  Even knowing how it had ultimately turned out, the memory of returning to his brother with enough money to keep them fed for the next few weeks was still a fond one.

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred's eyes snapped open.

_I'm still alive._

It was the sort of revelation that most people would consider cause for celebration. To him, however, it was cause for absolute horror.

Alfred looked around as much as he was able, given that he was bound to a soft bed by the ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows, and his chest. He was in a small room with a barred window all by himself, surrounded by cameras at every conceivable angle. An IV had been slipped into his bound wrist. Combined with how heavily he was restrained, Alfred found it surprisingly difficult to remain calm. There was a bubble of inexplicable panic in his chest, and it wasn't just the fear of Ivan's wrath. He'd never been claustrophobic before, but he could _feel_ the leather straps tightening around his body, even though they were visibly unmoving. They were _squeezing_ him! _Choking_ him! _Tormenting_ him!

_Let me out let me out let me out LET ME OUT LET ME OUT-_

Alfred screamed.

Immediately, he could hear a flurry of movement on the other side of the door. There was a _click_ as it was unlocked and pushed open, and a veritable sea of medical staff poured through. They pinned down his limbs in spite of the fact that he had already been securely bound.

"Damn it, he wasn't supposed to wake up this early. Should we contact the prince?"

"He's in the middle of a court session! Just sedate him for now!"

Alfred reflexively winced when a needle was jammed harshly into his arm. He was fucking sick of needles. Needles to capture him, needles to draw his blood, needles to torture him, needles to keep him calm! But fuck it, he was _not_ calm! He was anything _but_ calm, and he screamed and writhed to let them _fucking know it!_

"Let me out, I have to get out, I can't take it, please, _I HAVE TO GET OUT!"_ he cried, straining at the binds. "I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't-"

"Gag him before he bites his fucking tongue out!"

"You can't just-" argued a voice that Alfred recognized as Tino's. "Can't you see he's having a breakdown? You're just going to make it worse!"

"Damn it, I was hired to fix _physical_ injuries, not _emotional_ ones, and if he has to go through the machine again for another mortal fucking wound, we're going to lose our fucking jobs!"

"Is a job worth this?" demanded Tino.

"Maybe not, but my family is. Money doesn't grow on fucking trees," said the other doctor, who unceremoniously jammed a gag in Alfred's mouth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to!"

In all honesty, Alfred had only been lucid enough to understand maybe a fraction of the conversation that had just transpired. However, as the drug began to kick in, he could feel himself growing more and more sluggish. His struggles ceased, and he stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath.

"Easy, easy," said Tino. He pulled up a chair and, after retrieving a pen, paper, and clipboard, sat down at Alfred's side. He quickly and cautiously reached forward to remove the gag. "Deep breaths. You're okay."

"I should have died," whispered Alfred. "Why aren't I dead?"

"You _did_ die," said Tino honestly. "Thankfully, the machine we used to implant the restraining device into your body is useful for a fair bit more than just that. We got you to it just in time to bring you to a full recovery. Any longer, and the oxygen deprivation to your brain might have caused irreparable damage to your mind even if your body could be brought back."

"I don't want to recover!" said Alfred desperately. "Damn it, couldn't you people just let me _die?"_

He could tell that Tino was having a tough time trying to figure out how to answer that, and he didn't care.

"Life is so short, Alfred," said Tino. "You shouldn't attempt to end it prematurely!"

"Life?" repeated Alfred. _"Life?_ No. _No! You_ have a _life._ This isn't life. _This isn't life!"_

"I, I'm sorry, I-"

Just as Alfred was about to interrupt with a string of furious insults, the door swung open to reveal the last person that he'd expected to see.

"Alfred," said a quiet and familiar voice.

"K-kiku?"


	14. Until Somebody Saved Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not getting around to answering your comments! It seems I inadvertently had the alert emails getting sent to my spam folder. And here I thought that I just wasn't getting any. XD Thank you for all your support, guys. I'm trying not to let myself get too distracted by Splatoon, but boy, is it difficult. So many temptations! Speaking of which, I'm sorry the chapters aren't as long as they were in the beginning, but I'm trying to make sure I don't burn myself out. I have a bad habit of starting out dedicating hours and hours to a new project only to find that it's an unrealistic pace to maintain for the whole thing. Don't worry, it's not gonna get to a point that the chapters are only a paragraph long, or something like that. I tend to base my estimates on how many pages it takes up in Microsoft Word (not as accurate as a word count, but I'm too lazy to pull up that tool; yes, I know it only takes a minute) and the bare minimum that I'll consider a chapter is five pages. Again, it's not the best measure, since dialogue can take up a lot of pages due to constantly having to start a new paragraph, but it still ensures an adequate length, I think. Anyway, thanks for reading!

Alfred had imagined saying many things on his next meeting with Kiku, but seeing him face to face had him forgetting every last word that he'd planned to speak.

"Mister Honda, this is a really bad time," said Tino.

"It's still visiting hours. This is a perfectly valid time," said Kiku.

"Kiku," Alfred said again, still scrambling for words. He'd planned so many insults. So many curses. And yet, in spite of all that had happened, he was still relieved to see a familiar face. In that moment of torment and confusion, all he wanted was to believe that everything he'd been told was a lie. He wanted to believe Kiku's presence was all just an elaborate rescue operation. That one of his best friends hadn't sold him out. "Why?"

"Why what?" said Kiku in the same monotone as ever. "I should be asking you the same question. Why would you attempt to commit suicide?"

Alfred would have sat up if he could. "Don't try turning this on me! You know what I'm asking! _Why would you betray me like this?"_

"I never betrayed you," said Kiku easily. "The simple truth is that I was never on your side to begin with."

Alfred felt as though something in his chest had just shattered.

"Mister Honda!" said Tino urgently. "I think you need to leave!"

Kiku chose to flat-out ignore him, much to Tino's frustration. Alfred sat deathly still as Kiku continued to speak.

"You've changed," said Kiku. "You're not nearly as impulsive as you were. It's strange to see you so quiet when the old you would be thrashing at the restraints."

Alfred thought on those words, still unable to truly understand just what it was he was feeling. Had he really changed so much? Was he really quieter and more docile than he'd been in the past? Of course he was; those were the things he'd had to become to survive. But then, didn't that mean he was becoming everything that Ivan had wanted from him? Quiet. Obedient.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed softly. "Why do you think I killed myself?"

"I'm getting Berwald!" said an irritated Tino as he hurried out of the room.

_It was such an easy decision to make, in spite of the fear. Killing has ALWAYS been such an easy decision._

"That's not all," said Kiku. "There has to be something else."

Alfred almost wanted to laugh. Even against him, Kiku was eerily perceptive.

_Even against you? He said it himself, stupid; he's ALWAYS been against you._

"What's it matter to you why I did it?" said Alfred. "Why would you care?"

"It's in everyone's best interest that you stay alive," said Kiku.

"Everyone's best interest, huh?" spat Alfred. "Your best interests, maybe! I don't care about how much _you people_ need me! I'm better off to the rebellion dead than alive, and _that's_ what matters!"

"Are you?" said Kiku. "And where did you get that idea?"

Alfred looked away.

"You really _are_ a fool, aren't you?" said Kiku. His words struck Alfred harder than the knife he'd taken to the throat. "It's a testament to your own stupidity that you really believe that you're better off to the rebellion dead than alive."

Alfred blinked. "Huh?"

Kiku maintained his ever-neutral expression. His posture shifted only minimally as he spoke, remaining so still that it was as though he were a lifeless apparition.

"Every bit of information you consume about what's going on in the outside world has been carefully filtered so as to ensure that you believe what the prince wishes for you to believe," said Kiku. "One of your fatal flaws, Alfred, is that you're all too willing to believe everything you're told. You don't look for a deeper meaning, or see things from a different perspective. You simply take the world at face value and accept that the things you see are indicative of the entire reality. If you were no longer of any value to the rebellion, don't you think the prince would have been at least slightly distressed? Even assuming his affections remained, you're a trophy to him, and you don't continue to polish a worthless trophy. The fact that your training continues even now should have immediately tipped you off to the fact that you're still considered valuable."

It was difficult for Alfred to steady himself; his whole body was trembling, and he felt as though he were about to start crying again. Kiku's words were cold, but in some small way, they were actually reassuring. It was comforting to hear that his worries could be attributed to his own stupidity. It was comforting to be told that he was still considered valuable.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"If you die now, everything I've done up until this point will be for nothing," said Kiku as he turned to leave. "Goodbye, Alfred."

"Wait!" said Alfred, but Kiku didn't stop. "Wait! Kiku! _Kiku!"_

It was so hard. He wanted to hate Kiku with every fiber of his being. A part of him actually _did._ He'd gotten him captured. He'd said such cruel things to him. Every aspect of their relationship had been a lie. But he was still _Kiku,_ and he was the only familiar face in a sea of strangers.

_Wait._

Kiku wasn't stupid. Kiku knew him. Kiku would have _known_ he would take comfort out of believing he was still considered useful to the rebellion.

_Kiku comforted me deliberately._

But why? Why would he want to see Alfred cheer up? It would make sense for Eduard and Raivis; Ivan would make their lives a living Hell if they died on his watch. Heck, Eduard was probably in for a world of hurt for what Alfred had done. But Kiku? Kiku shouldn't have had any reason to care whether or not he died. He'd done his job already, and presumably gotten paid. He wasn't the type to get caught up over what people did with his results. He did as he was asked, then moved on. It wasn't like him to care that what he'd done had all been 'for nothing.'

Unless…

_Unless this is just another job he's been given. Pulled here intentionally to try and cheer you up. Why else would he be at Ivan's castle?_

Alfred laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until his laughter morphed into broken sobs.

_He JUST insulted my intelligence for believing everything that I've been told, and what am I doing now?_

_Or maybe,_ a tiny, hopeful voice in his mind provided, _he's still your friend! Maybe he's genuinely worried!_

No.

No, he wouldn't be fooled again.

 

* * *

 

 

Kiku strolled easily down the corridor. As usual, his face betrayed none of his thoughts, even as his mind swirled in a turmoil unlike any it had ever felt before.

Alfred had attempted to kill himself. Alfred had attempted to kill himself because of something that Kiku had done. Even when Alfred had first been captured, it hadn't hurt quite so much as that realization. Kiku had driven Alfred to suicide.

The moment he'd gotten wind of what happened, he'd dropped everything that he'd been doing to make a beeline for the medical wing. He hadn't even come up with an excuse to explain his presence there. It was one of the most impulsive and short-sighted things he'd ever done, but he did it all the same. He _had_ to.

There had been a part of him that had hoped Alfred would look at him with hatred in his eyes. Being hated hurt less than knowing that even Alfred was uncertain in how to approach him. Alfred, who'd always had such a limited capacity for different emotions. Alfred, whose emotional investment in others had always been either 'friend' or 'enemy.'

It was so strange. When he saw Alfred in such turmoil, it almost felt as though he, too, were feeling those same emotions. Kiku took a deep and quiet breath. It had been a long time since he had felt such empathy. That had been trained out of him from a young age.

He quietly slipped back into his private quarters. It wasn't far from Toris' room, of course. Advisors tended to be kept in the same area, and he was, for all intents and purposes, Ivan's new spymaster. Yao had been so proud.

_'There's my star pupil, climbing the ranks! Take care that you don't put me out of a job until I'm of retiring age!'_

That was another thing he'd impulsively failed to consider. In betraying the crown, he was betraying his teacher. Yao wasn't a perfect man, by any stretch of the imagination, and perhaps some of his methods had been questionable, but he was the closest thing to a parental figure that Kiku had. Up until recently, the idea of turning against him had been unimaginable. In fact, it was _still_ difficult to completely envision.

Kiku collapsed on his bed. Dealing with people had always been exhausting, and it was only more so when he was trapped in a scenario in which the happiness of the people he cared about were mutually exclusive.

Speaking of caring about people, he immediately decided that it was a bad idea to inform Matthew of Alfred's suicide attempt. It might have been a little cruel to keep him in the dark, but it was even crueler to subject him to that knowing he could do nothing about. If any of them knew, it would only cause them to act rashly. It was difficult, but Kiku knew that he had to remain calm and rational if he wanted to free Alfred. He had to suppress his emotions in order to make the most logical decisions, as he'd always been trained to do.

He closed his eyes and began to think.

Based on what had already been learned from Alfred's solo escape attempts, it was obvious that the biggest obstacle to overcome was going to be his restraining device. It was absolutely imperative that its threat be removed. Even if he carried Alfred's limp body the whole way back, the GPS would be the death of them both.

From what Kiku had read about it in the files that Yao had sent him, any attempts to remove or destroy it without the use of the machine that implanted it would result in paralysis from the neck down. That was a bad outcome in and of itself, but especially for Alfred, who'd always placed so much value on his mobility and independence. Without the capital's medical technology, he would be like that for the rest of his life, and Ivan was the sort of person who could very well destroy any devices he possessed that were capable of fixing the damage out of spite in the event that the rebellion managed to succeed.

No matter how he looked at it, he was going to have to pull some strings to get the device removed or disabled properly. It would take some time to open Alfred up and close the wound again, meaning that he would have to avoid discovery and pursuit for at least as long as it took for that to finish. In the absolute worst case scenario that could still potentially work out, the escape would be discovered during or immediately after that process.

Kiku sat up straight, opened up his laptop, and pulled up the blueprint of the castle. As spymaster, he was privy to all of the secret passageways. He would have to plot out their escape carefully so as to avoid being cornered. They were only going to get one shot. In the meantime, he would have to start building trust and making connections in the medical wing in order to understand the machine better; how it operated, how accessible it was, how much noise it made, and so on and so forth. And then there was the matter of getting Alfred out of his cage and away from any alternative forms of supervision.

No matter how he looked at it, a plan was going to take time to pull together. A month at the absolute _best,_ but in his experience, things were _never_ the absolute best. He only had a single shot. He couldn't afford to wing it.

Hopefully, Alfred would be able to bear with it a little longer.

 

* * *

 

 

The door burst open.

_"Alfred!"_ Ivan practically shouted, sounding equal parts panicked and angry. For one terrifying moment, Alfred was frightened that the anger would manifest in the form of brutal torture, but he only hurried to his side and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Oh, _Alfred!_ You poor, poor thing! Why would you do something like that to yourself?"

_'Don't act like you don't know why!'_ Alfred thought about screaming, but he didn't. He just stayed quiet while Ivan stroked his head and coddled him.

The door opened again.

"Okay, I've brought Berwald this time, so it's time for you to get _out_ of this-" began Tino valiantly, only to falter when Ivan turned to face him. Berwald, who stood behind him, steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "P-prince Ivan! I apologize, I was trying to shoo away someone else!"

"Don't worry, I understand," said Ivan. "Thank you for taking such good care of Alfred, but I would like a few minutes in private, if you would."

"O-of course!"

Tino and Berwald hurriedly shuffled out of the room, and Ivan turned his attention back towards Alfred, who did his best to shrink back under the covers.

"You have no idea how much you frightened me, pet," said Ivan. "When I heard about what had happened, I was so worried that I would lose you! Unfortunately, for as tempting as it was to have Lovino and Eduard disciplined for their negligence, I couldn't justify it when your actions just came out of nowhere. So tell me, pet, what was it? Did Eduard say something to you? If he did, I'll see to it that he never does again!"

Alfred sighed and shook his head.

"Then why?" demanded Ivan, sounding a fair bit more desperate than Alfred had initially expected.

"I can't take it anymore," said Alfred. "I can't get out. There's no way out, I'm _trapped,_ and I _hate_ it!"

He strained against the straps pinning him down. Much to his surprise, Ivan quickly removed the IV and freed his limbs. But then, he was still too weak to be much of a threat, anyway.

"Oh, pet," sighed Ivan, pulling him into an embrace. "You can leave your cage whenever you want, if you just behave yourself and earn the points for it."

"You know what I mean!" cried Alfred. "I hate this! I hate being _here!_ I hate you treating me like an object!"

"Alfred, you _are_ an object."

"Saying that doesn't make it true!" said Alfred furiously. "A piece of paper doesn't change the fact that I'm a person!"

"Pet, you know I love you dearly, but-" Ivan began, but Alfred was quick to interrupt.

"You don't love me," he hissed. "Don't you tell me you love me!"

"Do not raise your voice at me, pet," said Ivan firmly, though he continued to gently stroke Alfred's back.

"You don't love me!" growled Alfred. "You don't!"

"Oh? And what makes you so sure?" asked Ivan.

"You're horrible to me!"

"I'm also incredibly kind to people I hate," said Ivan all too cheerfully. "That proves nothing."

"You can't love me!" said Alfred.

"Oh? And why ever not?"

"Because _nobody fucking loves me!"_ said Alfred hysterically. "It's all been a lie! From the very beginning! Don't tell me it hasn't been! _I know it was!_ How could anyone love Alfred the killing machine? Alfred, who can't write his own speeches! Alfred, who can't formulate his own strategies! Alfred, whose only redeeming quality is how easy it is for smarter people to manipulate him!"

"Alfred, don't be ridiculous," said Ivan. "You have more redeeming qualities than just that!"

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot!" spat Alfred. "I'm attractive enough that a prince wants to fuck me. Isn't that nice? Ha, guess I had to be, right? Can't have an ugly figurehead. I really was the best man for the job, wasn't I? Handsome and empty-headed! What more could you ask from a mouthpiece?"

_Worthless, worthless, worthless._

_They don't like you._

_They don't want to pay attention to you._

_You don't DESERVE their attention._

_And isn't that all you ever did it for?_

_You'll fade into obscurity._

_You DESERVE to fade into obscurity._

_Unknown._

_Unloved._

_ALONE._

"Being attractive is a perfectly valid and redeemable quality to have," said Ivan. "Think about it! It's easy to say that it doesn't matter, since you have no control over it, but really, it's not much different from any other talent in that respect. Some people are naturally gifted at math, just like some people are naturally beautiful. Someone who isn't so skilled might try to improve themselves with study, just as someone who isn't beautiful might try to improve themselves with makeup, but they'll never reach the same level as someone who was born with a genetic predisposition towards being good at something."

"Are you seriously trying to bring genetics into this?" spat Alfred. "I'm Matthew's identical twin! _We have the exact same genes!"_

"Environmental factors are also out of a person's direct control, especially freak accidents during infancy," said Ivan. "You can't help it if you suffered a little brain damage at birth."

Alfred froze.

_"What?"_

"From the complications surrounding your birth," said Ivan as though it were obvious. "The reason you were officially 'born' two days after Matthew. The reason your mother died. But then, I suppose the rebels thought they'd destroyed all the records, and you joined them before you would have been legally capable of obtaining them, yourself."

"What complications?" demanded Alfred. He'd known his parents were both gone, and he'd known that his mother had died in labour, but he'd never given much thought to it. Birthdays hadn't been celebrated at the orphanage where he'd grown up; it was just the day when they went to the office to get their handprints and photos re-taken for the new year, assuming they were still alive. He'd never really taken the time to consider the reason behind the fact that Matthew was always called in two days earlier than he was.

Ivan appeared to hesitate. Was he wondering whether or not to tell him?

"Please," said Alfred. "Tell me. _Master."_

"Oh, I can't say 'no' to that face!" said Ivan. "Very well. I did a little digging shortly after your arrival, and managed to get my hands on a handful of newspaper records of the incident. Yes, I know, _newspapers._ How archaic!  But they also can't be mass-deleted, so, you know, there's that. Anyway, there was an earthquake on the day of your birth. It wasn't particularly major, but due to an unknown structural weakness, the whole place collapsed like a house of cards. The nurse holding Matthew managed to get out, but you, umm, hadn't been 'born' yet, and were trapped under the rubble with your mother. When you were finally dug out two days later, your mother was, ah, well, her whole head had been cracked open, and you were, well, let's just say 'barely alive,' and leave it at that."

Alfred took a long moment to let that information process.

"I have _brain damage?"_

"It's very minor!" Ivan assured him. "Or, well, possibly minor. The inner workings of the brain are still mostly unknown to science. Some people who suffer brain-damage are permanently impaired, and others become capable of doing even the most complicated of math problems in their heads. Others lose half their brain and still remain fully functional! It's not the most predictable injury, you see."

"And what if I hadn't been brain-damaged?" said Alfred. "Would I have been more like Matthew?"

"Hmm, probably, though I'm certain you would still have your differences," said Ivan. "Identical twins still have distinct personalities as a result of their different experiences, though they have the same genetic predispositions. Who knows? Maybe your injuries made you more charismatic at the cost of your intelligence, hm? Or maybe only one of those things was the result of the injury, which caused you to spend more time working on the other trait that Matthew would have had any reason to do."

"Does it even _work_ like that?" said Alfred, still horrified.

"Who knows? Like I said, it's still very much unknown. Perhaps there was no discernable impact at all, and your personality is simply the result of other environmental factors," said Ivan. "But brain injuries _have_ been shown in the past to have an impact on inhibitions, impulsiveness, and intelligence."

Somehow, not knowing whether or not brain damage had had an impact on his personality was even _less_ comforting than being told for sure one way or another.

"Oh, pet, don't feel bad," said Ivan soothingly. He gently pulled Alfred into his lap and stroked his head. Alfred was rather distressed by how nice it felt to be held, even before Ivan clicked the remote to fill his head up with warm, fuzzy feelings. "Brain damage or no brain damage, we're all just the sum of our biology and our experiences. And no matter how you got there, I absolutely adore what you turned out to be."

Alfred shuddered. It didn't matter how much Ivan 'adored' him. The comfort would only be fleeting. It was only a matter of time before he brought up-

"As for your that filthy mouth of yours," said Ivan, prompting Alfred to tense up, "in light of the circumstances, I'll let it go just this once with a warning. However, in the future, if you swear or attempt to injure yourself – which is against the rules under 'willful destruction of my property' – I _will_ be forced to discipline you, understand?"

It wasn't kindness or mercy, Alfred desperately tried to tell himself. It was manipulation. All of it was just one big scheme to make him normalize his situation. It was one big ploy to get him to fall for his captor.

Even knowing that, Alfred relaxed in Ivan's arms. In a voice that betrayed gratitude, he spoke:

"Thank you, master."

 

* * *

 

 

After his suicide attempt, Alfred found that he was only rarely without supervision. By day, he was almost always accompanied by a guard, even while he was in his cage. It was a situation that made it remarkably difficult to relieve himself, though desperation eventually forced his hand. At night, he remained under the watchful eye of a camera, knowing full well that anything even remotely resembling self-harm would have him shut down and rushed to a doctor. On the rare occasions that he had to be briefly left alone, he was either rendered immobile by his restraining device, or wrapped up in a straitjacket with a gag in his mouth to keep him from biting out his tongue.

His neck, true to Tino's word, had not scarred in the slightest. Were it not for the added supervision, he might have questioned whether or not it had ever happened at all, or if it had only been a bad dream.

In any case, one thing had become painfully clear.

_There's no escaping this._

There was no freedom, either in life or death. There were no choices beyond those that Ivan presented to him. He was a good pet, or he was punished. It was as simple as that.

_Do I want to die?_

He didn't know anymore. In many ways, it seemed preferable to his circumstances. He was beginning to adapt to his surroundings, and it scared him to wonder just how much more Ivan would be able to change him if he stayed alive. But then there was a tiny part of him – the same part that still wanted to believe in Kiku – that hoped beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a rescue operation underway.

After a few days of rest and supervision, during which time he was permitted to do little other than request to be read to by his guards (books were still considered too dangerous for him to hold, lest he slash his wrists open with the paper), he was finally allowed out of his cage to do chores again. (It was not lost on him just how absurd it was for him to be so excited for _chores.)_ It felt as though he were only going through the motions, like his mind was only barely present. With each passing day, however, his abysmal scores were beginning to climb back up to 'perfects.'

_This is it. This is my life, from now until…_

Until somebody saved him.


	15. Taking Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey, sorry for the extended hiatus! The semester was particularly brutal, but I'm back! Hopefully this chapter isn't too terribly disappointing after such a lengthy wait!

Alfred hadn't known what to make of it when Ivan burst excitedly into the room.

"Alfred, pet, I have excellent news!" said Ivan giddily, and Alfred resisted the urge to ask him if the excellent news was that he'd become terminally ill. "I got father's approval to take you to the gala!"

'Gala.' It was a word that Alfred had heard in the past, but he wasn't entirely certain just what it meant. Unwilling to look like a complete fool, however, Alfred chose to hold his tongue. It was a strategy that worked in his favor, as Ivan was more than happy to babble on without prompting.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder how many other times he could have avoided trouble by simply quieting down when he didn't have anything intelligent to say.

"It will be a wonderful opportunity for the both of us!" said Ivan, vaulting over the armrest of a chair like an excited child. "I'll be able to show everyone how much progress we've made, and you'll be able to get out and about! Oh my, there are so many preparations to be made in the coming weeks!"

It was difficult for Alfred to match Ivan's enthusiasm. In fact, it was flat out impossible, unless 'gala' was another word for 'let the rebel go and peacefully surrender the civil war.' Somehow, however, Alfred doubted that that was the case.

"You'll need etiquette lessons, for sure," continued Ivan. "I'll just replace your cooking classes with them until after the gala, I think. By then, I think you'll be well enough to handle knives, at least as long as someone is there to provide all of the necessary supervision. Besides, if a gala can't lift your spirits, I don't know what can! Other than lots and lots of drugs, of course. I'd prefer to keep medicating you as a last resort, though. I hope you can understand."

"Yes, master," said Alfred almost reflexively. He didn't meet Ivan's gaze, choosing instead to continue fiddling with the clay he'd been given. Much as he still despised the situation, he'd since come to recognize that he'd been fighting a losing battle. Surely there was no shame in self-preservation when the alternative would reward him with nothing but pain.

 _Besides,_ a part of his mind whispered, _what more can you do? You're just an idiot. You're lucky you're even capable of following other people's orders. How could a brain-damaged coward possibly escape this on their own?_

Alfred could no longer formulate an argument in response.

"That's a good boy," said Ivan cheerfully. He gave Alfred an appraising look, and his smile tightened. When he continued to speak, his voice took on a more ominous tone. "But just so we're clear, I'm going to be much stricter with you on the rules in public. If I get even the slightest hint that you're deliberately attempting to undermine my authority, you will be sent straight to the box. Is that understood?"

Alfred trembled. He couldn't go back there. He couldn't! He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, or smell, or taste, or feel, or _breathe…_ "Please, anything but that!"

"There, there, don't be frightened," said Ivan, immediately reverting back to his comforting persona. He bent down to look Alfred in the face through the bars of his cage. "Didn't you hear what I just said? It's only if you're deliberately disobedient. As long as you do what you're told and try your best, you don't have anything to worry about, okay? Hush, now."

"Yes, master," said Alfred again. He just had to stop thinking about it. Anything but the darkness. The loneliness. The creatures of the abyss that tormented him. His hands sped up as he crushed and pulled apart the clay in his fingers, not to make any kind of shape, but simply to distract himself.

Thankfully, Ivan saw fit to reward his obedience with a click of satisfaction, allowing Alfred a few blissful moments to revel in false feelings of accomplishment.

"Good boy," said Ivan. "But with all that having been said, you're still a little out of shape. I love you dearly, Alfred, but even the greatest of trophies needs to be polished. We're going to go get some exercise. Come on, up!"

Alfred wasn't about to disobey Ivan's orders without a damned good reason, so he reluctantly got to his feet with a mumbled acknowledgement of the command. Ivan opened his cage without properly restraining him first, but he didn't dare use it as an opportunity to flee. What good would it do? Instead, he only stood still while Ivan rifled through some drawers.

"Ah, here we go!" said Ivan, pulling out a shirt and a pair of track pants. "You haven't yet purchased any clothes, so consider these a loan strictly for the purpose of exercise. It wouldn't do to have you running about the gym in either a thong or a dress. I have to protect _some_ of your modesty."

"Thank you, master," said Alfred more gratefully than he would have liked. He'd done enough running around the castle in only the most minimal of clothing to last a lifetime of shame.

When Ivan returned with the clothing, he wasn't surprised when, rather than being allowed to dress himself, he was expected to hold his arms up and shift around while he was dressed like a doll. It was just one of the many ways in which he was treated more like an object than a person. He accepted Ivan's words of praise with a quiet nod, then extended his wrists out to be handcuffed without complaint, followed by his ankles.

The only part that got an actual reaction out of Alfred was the metal collar that Ivan affixed to his neck, which was attached to a chain leash. He crinkled his nose, and his face reddened with embarrassment, but he endured it in silence.

"Walk ahead of me, pet," said Ivan. "Out the door. Come along, now."

Alfred reluctantly set off ahead of Ivan. When the guards opened the door to let them through, he tried to pass with his head held high, but all he could manage was to hunch over uncomfortably and stare at the ground. He couldn't meet the eyes of any of the servants that roamed the hallways, but he could feel their gazes on him as he passed. It wasn't surprising; Alfred knew he looked absolutely pathetic, like a tree knocked down by a storm.

Ivan, on the other hand, looked positively delighted as he chirped off directions. "Left down this way! Now right! Down those stairs. Good pet! Through that door, now. That's it!"

The guards that had accompanied them opened the doors. Inside was a gym full of exercise equipment of all kinds, though it was only sparsely occupied. The handful of men and women inside looked more like civilian workers than the soldiers that he'd expected.

"I didn't want you to feel self-conscious about your current state, so I gave all of the soldiers who would ordinarily be here right now the day off," said Ivan. "Now, let's start you off nice and simple, shall we? Look, there's an unoccupied treadmill!"

The guards removed the chains around Alfred's ankles and latched his leash to the front of the treadmill; he supposed it would look bad for a prince to do such menial tasks in front of people, especially when it appeared that much of the fear and paranoia he'd been instilling in the castle staff seemed to have waned in recent days. There was still apprehension, but it was a far cry from his first day there, when hardened soldiers had been afraid to so much as touch him.

He was started at a steady walk of only three miles per hour, a pace which was gradually increased over time until he was jogging ten minutes later.

Alfred had always preferred jogging outside on a trail through the woods. He didn't handle monotony well, and the changing scenery kept him entertained, as did the irregular terrain. Still, despite the chain, and despite his confinement to a single room, it was nice to truly stretch his legs for the first time in weeks. He hadn't realized just how much he'd really missed simply being able to _run_ until it had been gone. Even during his latest escape, he'd been too malnourished to really move at such speeds. As pathetic as it was to admit it to himself, being forced to exercise was the most liberated that he'd felt since his capture.

Over in another corner of the room, Ivan was clearly torn between watching him – the sick freak – and exercising, himself. Ultimately, he ended up settling on one of those stair-climbing things opposite Alfred, leaving them to face one another. Rather than meet his gaze, Alfred focused his attention on the little number telling him how fast he was going.

He hardly even noticed how tired he was by the time the treadmill was switched off. It felt as though he'd been running for hours, but the built-in timer insisted that it had only been twenty minutes. Alfred frowned; it had been a long, long time since his endurance had been so pitiful. He felt immensely better than when he'd been starving himself, but he wanted to return to peak physical condition as soon as he could. It didn't matter that that was what Ivan wanted of him; what mattered was that he wanted it for himself.

"Was that it?" asked Alfred, trying not to let the disappointment seep into his voice. At Ivan's expectant look, he hastily added, "Master."

"Don't worry, we're just taking a water break," Ivan assured him, ruffling his hair; it was as condescending an act as ever, but Alfred was quickly getting used to it. He was quickly getting used to a _lot_ of things. What other choice did he have?

Coming to terms with the fact that there was no way out had been (and continued to be) one of the lowest points of his life, even more so than the time he'd nearly had his skull cracked open as a child for two copper pieces and a half a slice of bread. He didn't want to accept it. He _couldn't_ accept it. But it was still his reality, and he had to live with it.

Ivan had been very patient – if waiting to molest someone against their will counted as _patient_ – in the time following Alfred's suicide attempt, but he was beginning to get very touchy-feely again as he had outwardly improved. While he tried not to let it worry him, Alfred knew damn well that his virginity was on borrowed time. It wouldn't be long before his 'master' got tired of keeping himself occupied at night. It was an inevitability, just like everything else about his new life.

Alfred chugged the water he'd been handed by a guard and crushed the plastic cup in his hand. A flurry of emotion whirled about in his head, and he was hard-pressed to make sense of it. Was he angry? Depressed? Anxious? Scared? Lonely? Hopeless? And yet, in spite of the chaos, it all came together into one big feeling of emptiness. _Apathy._ It was like he was too mentally exhausted to care.

And yet, by the time he went back to his cage, he was feeling an emotion that he hadn't felt in a while. Not hope, or anything like that, but _satisfaction._ The kind that didn't come from a button click. He was exhausted, but in a good way. It reminded him of back when he'd started training as a soldier. Would Ivan allow him to practice some punches? Or would he not want his pretty little pet involved in such violent things? For all of his insults to Alfred's intelligence and his insistence on having him engage in domestic chores, he had never once treated him as something soft or delicate. If anything, Ivan made it clear that he was attracted to his strength.

In the dim light of the night, as Ivan was preparing to read him a 'bedtime story,' Alfred decided that if he was to stay even remotely sane, he needed to set some goals for himself, no matter how small or pointless. First, he needed to get back in shape. If he couldn't die, he wasn't going to let himself wither away until he might as well be. Second, well, he wasn't really sure. He just hoped an idea would come to him before he'd accomplished the first one.

Alfred curled up into a ball in his bed, wondering how it had reached a point where he'd gone from struggling to escape to struggling to trudge along through life in the absence of all hope.

* * *

 

He wasn't sure whether to consider his first etiquette class a success for a failure. It was certainly a success in that he'd passed with flying colors, but it was a failure in that he was doing everything he was told without so much as a single complaint. Stand, sit, kneel, bow, and so on and so forth. He meekly acceded to it all.

From what he'd gathered, the gala was a massive party that was supposedly open to the public, though in practice it was only the wealthy and elite who could afford the exorbitant ticket prices. Most of the nobility would be there, naturally, and Alfred was being dragged along by Ivan like some kind of an accessory in order to show off. Given that he was attending as more of an object than a person, apparently there had been some debate over how he ought to be expected to behave, but they'd finally settled on decorum befitting a servant. The only difference being, of course, that the _actual_ servants were still considered his superiors, and as such, he was to treat anyone he came across as though they held a position of authority over him.

Most of the rules seemed rather standard. 'Don't speak unless spoken to' was one that he'd heard all too many times. Stand up straight, but keep his head down. Bow deeply to whoever Ivan chose to greet. Toes pointed in. Arms in front of him (not that he needed to worry about that, he was assured, as his arms would be restrained) where they could be seen. No addressing himself like an individual; if he did end up speaking, he was to refer to himself as 'this object,' or 'this pet.'

"Good posture," said his instructor. "Now, let's test what you've learned. What is your name?"

Alfred wasn't bothered by the fact that he was forbidden from making eye contact; he would have been too ashamed even if he'd been allowed.

"This object is called Alfred," said Alfred quietly.

"Excellent! Now, back to how you're positioning your feet…"

Day after day passed. His strength of body began to return, but his strength of mind wasn't so keen on recovering.

Ivan praised him for his obedience, of course, but frequently questioned why he had yet to spend many of the points that he was accumulating on his GBM. Alfred's response had simply been that he didn't particularly want anything. In truth, it was because being rewarded for his obedience to his 'master' made him sick to his stomach. He deserved nothing for such disgrace.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, one day Ivan took him out of his cage and motioned for him to get on the bed. Alfred froze, his face pale. He'd known it was coming, but…

"Oh, pet, don't worry," said Ivan, patting his head. "I know you're not ready to go all the way yet. Just consider this a fun little warm-up, hm? You know, just to get you more comfortable with the idea."

There was nothing fun about it, but Alfred reluctantly climbed into the bed, still wearing the single pair of leggings that hadn't been confiscated after his escape attempt. Ivan was quick to join him, and pulled him in close so that he was on his side with his back to the chest of his 'master.' Nonetheless, Alfred found himself so relieved by the fact that Ivan didn't intend to take it to the level he'd feared that he actually allowed his body to relax, even as things got a little more touchy-feely. Faced with the possibility of the alternative, he decided to count his blessings.

Cold hands slid up and down his sides, stroking and squeezing. He tried to put his mind elsewhere; Alfred had come to know better than to think he would actually accomplish anything if he put up a fight. His body tensed up again when Ivan cupped his rear, but he fought back the instinct to turn around and shove him away, even when it slid around to the front.

Alfred inhaled sharply when his soft length was fondled, doing his best to concentrate on the wall in front of him.

"That's it, just relax," said Ivan, nuzzling his neck. "You're doing very well."

 _Click._ His brain betrayed him in its swift acceptance of whatever wonderful little chemical reaction Ivan kept triggering it to feel.

"I don't want to be 'doing well,' " admitted Alfred softly.

"That's not surprising," said Ivan. Alfred could hear him turning a dial. It took effect almost immediately; the hand around his cock that he'd previously been able to ignore suddenly became much, _much_ hotter. "You've held out very well. Even the Box wasn't enough to completely shatter your resolve, it seems. However, what you fight is a losing battle. You _will_ come around, one way or another."

Alfred bit his tongue to hold in the gasp of pleasure that threatened to escape when Ivan began to pull the leggings off of his body. His half-hardened cock only grew harder upon being exposed, and he instinctively brought his hands down to cover it in shame.

Naturally, Ivan gently batted them out of the way.

"None of that, now," he said firmly.

A part of Alfred wasn't sure how he was still conscious, since it seemed half the blood in his body had rushed to his face until it was a vibrant red. The other half was racing for his cock, which swelled under Ivan's touch. He groaned and squeezed his legs together, trying to ignore it, but even the slightest contact was like an inferno of pleasures. The fact that he hadn't touched himself in weeks certainly wasn't helping matters.

When Ivan began actively stroking his sex, he completely fell apart.

 _"Ah!"_ he gasped, back arching. Ivan was quick to close the distance between them until his solid, clothed length was pushed right up against his bare ass. He wanted to be completely disgusted, but he also wanted to grind against it.

"Get on your back. Legs spread," said Ivan. It was voiced like an order. Even so…

"You said-"

"I wouldn't lie to you. We're not going all the way," Ivan assured him. "But it's a position you're going to have to get used to."

Reluctant, but unwilling to endure the consequences for refusal, Alfred rolled over onto his back and slowly parted his legs, which Ivan was all too happy to immediately place himself between. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact, but then, his etiquette teacher had informed him that it was improper for a servant to look a noble directly in the face.

"You've made quite a comeback," noted Ivan, beaming delightedly as he stroked Alfred's biceps. "It might be a while before you're back in your prime, of course, but you're already firming back up!"

Alfred bit back a sarcastic comment in favor of silence while Ivan prattled on about how attractive he was. Coming from literally anyone else, the praise might have inflated his ego. Coming from Ivan, though, it-

…Damn it. It actually still felt pretty nice to be praised, especially in light of the metaphorical beat-down his psyche had been taking.

"-could look at you all day," said Ivan, and Alfred tried not to panic when he realized he'd completely zoned out. If Ivan had given him an order, he was in trouble.

Thankfully, though, it seemed to have just been more compliments about his body. Alfred hardly needed to be _told_ how Ivan felt about him, honestly. He could feel it quite plainly in the bulged crotch grinding against his exposed cock, an act that was causing his whole body to shake and twist in unwanted pleasure. Embarrassed by how quickly he was succumbing, Alfred turned his reddened face to the side and squeezed his eyes shut. The sight of Ivan's blurry figure looming over him in such a position was too much, and he wasn't sure if that was because of discomfort, or because it was _seriously turning him on._

But then, _everything_ was a turn-on in such a state. Alfred tried his best to cover up his moans with heavy panting, but his efforts were in vain. Every time he finally thought he was getting himself under control, Ivan turned the dial of the remote up by another notch.

"Please don't," was all Alfred could find it in him to say.

"Hush."

 _Fight it,_ he thought desperately. Alfred couldn't fight _back,_ of course, but at the very least he could fight his own response. Much as he hated every second of _wonderful, incredible_ contact, it just _felt so good!_ Within only a few short moments, he was fully hard and dripping like a leaky faucet. It was hard to say how much longer he would be able to hold out.

Ivan gripped his sex and gently teased the head of his sex with his thumb. Alfred's eyes rolled upwards, and he chomped down on his lower lip. When the same thumb was pressed down against his leaking slit, he whimpered and shook. He wasn't sure how much more of the tiny, gossamer touches that he could take. How long until he could c- no, no, how long until it was _over with?_

"So," said Ivan in a remarkably casual tone that Alfred never would have expected to hear in such a situation. "Strictly in the interest of further calibration down the line, how would you rate your desire right now on a scale of one to one hundred? One being 'nothing,' fifty being 'more, please,' and one hundred being 'I want to throw myself down on your cock, master!' "

Alfred did his best to scowl, but it came across as more of a pout.

"One," he answered in breathy, meek defiance.

"Oh, really?" said Ivan. He gave Alfred's needy genitals a rough squeeze, prompting him to cry out in a mix of pain and need. "Now, now, Alfred. Be honest. I wouldn't want to have it calibrated to make you _too_ sensitive, lest you cum at the sound of a man's voice."

Alfred wasn't sure if that was even possible, but it definitely gave him pause.

Ivan pressed his lips to Alfred's neck, and he all but _melted._

"Seventy," he admitted through whines and gasps. "Oh, _ah!_ Hnn…"

"That's more like it," purred Ivan, and he wrote something down on a notepad that Alfred had been too preoccupied to notice him pick up.

At that point, he hardly cared anymore. Every touch was torturously good. Ivan continued to mercilessly tease his sex with gentle, barely-perceptible contact. Alfred could only grip the sheets in a needy haze, his back arching off of the bed in desperation even as the shame lingered in the back of his mind. He wasn't even sure whether the tears rolling down his cheeks were from pleasure or humiliation anymore.

Ivan pulled down the front of his own pants. For as lost as he was in pleasure, Alfred couldn't bring himself to watch what he was doing. Even so, he immediately recognized when the sizable length was pressed up against his own. The contact was almost enough to bring him to completion even before Ivan began thrusting his hips, rubbing their bare cocks together without once stopping to don a condom. Of course, Alfred was a virgin, and Ivan probably took enough precautionary measures to stay clean, so it wasn't really all that surprising.

"Do you like that, pet?" asked Ivan. When Alfred neglected to respond, he repeated the question. "I said, _do you like that,_ pet? Answer me. _Honestly."_

Alfred practically jumped out of his skin when the head of Ivan's cock brushed up against his hole. More frightening than that, however, was how _right_ it felt.

"Yes," said Alfred.

"Yes, _what?"_ said Ivan, and the pressure against his entrance began to build.

"Yes, master!" corrected Alfred quickly.

"Good boy," said Ivan, leaning down to press a kiss to Alfred's cheek. Aside from wincing, he didn't react. Despite himself, Alfred felt both a sense of relief and _disappointment_ as Ivan moved his length from the general proximity of his ass in favor of returning to rubbing their cocks together. "Nothing is going in there today, I'm afraid. At least, not before it's been cleaned out."

Alfred gritted his teeth to hide the look of disappointment that otherwise threatened to cross his face.

"But don't worry," continued Ivan cheerfully as he kissed and licked Alfred's neck. "I'll be sure to give you the finger-fuck of a lifetime soon enough!"

 _I want it now,_ thought Alfred desperately, only to squeeze his eyes shut and violently shake his head. No, no, no! He most certainly _didn't_ want it! It was only that accursed device latched to his spine, amplifying even the simplest touch to such immense pleasure that he couldn't resist the onslaught. The underside of his twitching sex burned with every movement of Ivan's against it. If he didn't stop soon…

"S-sto- I can't- I-" choked out Alfred. His whole body violently convulsed, and he threw his head back against the pillow in pure, blissful orgasm. So powerful was the wave of pleasure that he barely registered the feeling of Ivan sinking his teeth into his neck, or the extra helping of seed that splattered onto his belly alongside his own.

Ivan pressed a kiss to his lips. Alfred was too weak to turn away.

"I love you," said Ivan delightedly, his pale face still flushed pink.

Alfred just turned his head to the side and exhaled. He could only hope that he had enough points to afford a turtleneck shirt to cover the bite mark that Ivan had left on his throat.

* * *

 

"I hope you don't mind," said Ivan as they showered, "but I've added something of a- oh, let's just call it a protein powder to your water. You know, to help you recover."

"You're giving me steroids," said Alfred flatly, but quietly; he wasn't supposed to raise his voice at his 'master.'

Having already gotten used to the lewd, gynecology-chair-style restraints, it barely phased him when Ivan took a razor to any pubic hair threatening to grow. Ivan was crazy, but at least he was consistent. As long as Alfred didn't break the rules, he wouldn't be hurt too badly.

"Oh, no, no, no!" Ivan assured him. "I would never give you something with such ghastly side effects."

"An experimental drug, then?" inquired Alfred.

"Am I really getting so predictable?" said Ivan with a pout. "Very well, yes. But don't you worry about being given something that's only been tested on animals before! I had this tested extensively on human volunteers who wanted to get out of their regularly scheduled torture. You can hardly even call it experimental anymore, now that the effects are so well documented!"

Alfred didn't bother to point out that it didn't exactly count as volunteering if it was an alternative to torture. "What's the point of the drug?"

"Well, that's simple," said Ivan. "Ordinarily, it takes months upon months to reach your peak physical state after, say, starving yourself to the point of emaciation. This powder should encourage faster muscle regrowth without shrinking your testicles, decreasing your sperm count, or giving you breasts."

Alfred grimaced. He didn't need to be told what happened to people who took such drugs. He'd seen enough of it in his fellow soldiers. Such was the price of shortcuts. "So it doesn't have _any_ side effects?"

  
Ivan giggled. "Of course it has side effects, silly, or I'd be giving it to my soldiers. Those on – well, there's a chemical name, but again, we're just going to call it a 'protein powder' – tend to experience an increased appetite, periods of high energy followed by extreme lethargy, as well as, well…"

He didn't even want to know, and yet… "What?"

"Increased libido."

Of _course._

"Now, a slightly enhanced desire for sex doesn't get you off the hook as far as the rules go," said Ivan firmly. "Having increased thoughts of touching yourself doesn't make you some kind of out-of-control animal. I expect you to maintain some self-control."

"So I'm _not_ an animal now?"

"You've never been an animal, Alfred. You're an object," Ivan reminded him patiently. "But regardless, I will not tolerate you touching yourself without permission. If it gets that bad, you have plenty of points saved up for a ticket."

Alfred gritted his teeth. "What's the point of making me spend points on a ticket just to jack off?"

"Oh, there are several reasons!" said Ivan as he scrubbed Alfred's nether regions clean. "Assertion of control, for one. As my property, I can't simply allow you free reign over your own sexuality. You might end up doing it so much that you exhaust yourself and aren't as sensitive or responsive during sex! I don't know if you've noticed, but the number of masturbation tickets you can purchase a day, if any at all, is limited depending on my plans for you. If I won't be around much, it might be increased. At other times, they might not be available for weeks. And don't even think about hoarding them for later use, because they're only good for up to six hours."

Alfred didn't dare roll his eyes, but he was sorely tempted to. "Wow. This seems pretty important to you."

"Oh, it is!" agreed Ivan. "In fact, it's so important to me that I've modified the rules slightly to bump unpermitted masturbation up to an instantly punishable offense regardless of strikes, much like attempting to escape."

Alfred's eyes widened at the prospect of going back to the box.

"Oh, don't worry, you won't be sent to the box for it. I'm not _that_ harsh," said Ivan, stroking his cheek comfortingly. "We'll just be taking some _preventative_ measures, that's all."

That was it? Alfred blinked. "So, what, you're gonna put me in a chastity belt, or something?"

Ivan smiled. "Needless to say, you wouldn't be able to touch yourself for a while even if you wanted to."

Alfred couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had the punishment for masturbating seriously gone from something that could get him genuinely tortured to not being allowed to touch himself for a while? But then, Ivan _had_ said it was all about control. Alfred's pride was already in tatters, and the thought of a chastity belt of some kind bothered him. It was just another reminder that Ivan didn't consider his body to be _his._

"You seem to have become more energetic lately," said Ivan out of nowhere. "I'm glad that you're feeling better."

Better? Hardly. It was more like he'd come to terms with his perpetual misery. Unfortunately, Alfred was all too aware that a grateful response was expected of him.

"Thank you, master."

From the joyous, love-struck look on Ivan's face, Alfred couldn't help but wonder if he was ever going to get tired of hearing that.

"I'm never going to get tired of hearing that!" proclaimed Ivan, kissing his forehead.

Well, that answered that question.

Alfred braced himself for something foul-tasting as he put his lips to the phallic nozzle of his water bottle. He couldn't imagine the so-called 'protein powder' tasting anything but bitter and unpleasant. Surprisingly, however, it didn't appear that it had been added in large quantities. Either that, or it was completely tasteless, because nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Had Ivan not seen fit to tell him, he never would have noticed.

Warily, he slipped a hand down the front of his pants to check for any oddness in his genitals. They certainly didn't _feel_ any different, and he quickly removed his hand. It didn't matter that he was all alone. He didn't want to get into trouble over someone suddenly walking in and getting the wrong idea. Guards no longer watched him around the clock in Ivan's absence, but they still popped in at frequent intervals to make sure he wasn't up to anything.

Hoping that it was just that the drug's side effects were milder than he'd been led to believe, and not simply that they hadn't kicked in yet, Alfred flopped down on his bed and browsed the catalogue.

 _It's not about getting rewarded for obedience,_ he tried to assure himself. _I just want some proper clothes._

_You don't deserve proper clothes. You don't deserve anything._

Too exhausted to argue, Alfred silently told the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness plaguing his brain to kindly fuck off for the night. He already knew he didn't deserve anything, not even life itself, but the points were already there, and he was sick and tired of alternating between near-nudity and a fucking dress.

' _16,550 GBP,'_ said the GBM. Ivan had generously increased the size of all the text to make it easier to read without his glasses, though he still had to squint.

First things first; if he was going to have more clothing, he needed somewhere to put it aside from on the floor. Not because he personally minded the mess, but because in the midst of his legging-purchasing spree, Ivan had scolded him about the mess on several occasions about the disorderly piles of fabric everywhere. Messiness itself wasn't strictly against the rules, but disobeying Ivan's wishes was. For that reason, the first thing he added to the cart was a simple brown chest he could just throw all his shit in to keep it out of sight.

 _'16,450 GBP,'_ it said. It seemed like more than it actually was; normal clothing was just that astronomically expensive.

Second, he needed some actual clothing. There weren't any turtlenecks available, unfortunately, but he was able to afford a few shirts, shorts, and pants of muted colors for a 'mere' 14,000 points. A pack of six pairs of socks was about 500, followed by a pair of shoes for 1,000, leaving him with 950 points to use as a deficit buffer. If all went well, he would have his glasses back in the next few days.

His stomach growled, and he shamefully added a tub of chocolate ice cream to the list for 500 points to stave off his newfound self-loathing.

_You don't deserve it; you don't deserve anything to make you feel better. Not when you obeyed him like a dog. Not when you meekly refused to injure him when presented with the opportunity. Not when you writhed against him like a whore. Not when you were only seconds away from begging to be-_

_No, it isn't like that! I didn't, and I wouldn't have! I didn't want it!_

_YOU WANTED IT YOU WANTED IT YOU WANTED IT-_

Alfred swallowed and wondered how pathetic he must look. Did he even deserve to be miserable right then? He wasn't even in pain. He could eat just about whatever he wanted as long as he had the points. How sad was it that he still couldn't seem to keep it together? Was he really such a sorry excuse for a soldier that he'd been broken down by such means?

"Matthew," he whispered to nobody in particular. "Help me."

* * *

 

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

He lowered his rifle and took cover behind the trunk of the tree whose branch he was seated on. Alfred had always been the better shot, but Matthew imagined that he would have been very proud to see him pull off those two long-range shots in rapid succession.

("Of course," Alfred would say cockily, "I would have landed the third shot, too, so you'll just have to settle for second-best!")

"One left," muttered Matthew under his breath. He took a quick peek around the trunk of the tree, only to immediately return to cover as a barrage of gunfire came his way. His bulletproof vest would protect most of his vital organs, but not his face or limbs.

_Thud!_

Matthew blinked. Had something just struck the tree from the other side?

_BOOM!_

He barely suppressed a scream at the sound of the grenade going off. Thankfully, the enemy soldier's aim appeared to have been off, striking the tree and bouncing off instead of sailing past it to assault Matthew with shrapnel. Ears still ringing, but recognizing a potential opening, he immediately poked his gun out from behind the tree and took aim. As soon as she was out from behind her own cover, he fired.

Her body dropped like a limp doll.

"I'm sorry," said Matthew quietly to the corpses he'd created. A life was a life, and soldiers were merely pawns of the true perpetrators. Matthew had never been overly fond of killing, necessary though it sometimes was. Be that as it may… "I have to save my brother."

He flicked the safety of his gun on and dropped to the leafy ground of the forest. The radio on his hip buzzed to life.

"Matthew, do you copy?" asked Francis' voice. "This is Francis! Over!"

With a heavy sigh, Matthew removed the radio from his hip.

"Yes, over."

"Oh, thank God! When you disappeared, we didn't know what to-"

 _"Matthew Williams!"_ roared Arthur's furious voice, any semblance of radio lingo abandoned in his rage. Matthew winced. That was the tone he usually reserved for Alfred. "You get back here _right Goddamned now,_ or so help me, I will kill you myself! _Is that clear?"_

Matthew opened his mouth to respond, but Francis spoke up before he could.

"Matthew, darling, I know you want to save Alfred, but you have such a recognizable face! If you're thinking of infiltrating-"

"I know," interrupted Matthew as he walked. "I'm not going to attempt to infiltrate."

"Then _what the hell are you doing in a combat zone?"_ screamed Arthur. "You are _not_ authorized to fight! Are you aware of what you've done, sneaking aboard that deployment helicopter? You've compromised security! You've put lives at risk!"

"Arthur, kitten, I think you're being a little-"

_"Don't tell me I'm being too harsh!"_

Matthew grimaced. Arthur didn't hold back when he was peeved, but he knew it was only because he was worried. Indeed, it wasn't usually like Matthew to sneak off into combat zones without the proper authorization. Unfortunately, recent events had made securing the proper authorization very, well, _difficult._ Neither Francis nor Arthur were too keen on sending him into danger after Alfred's loss. He understood their position; really, he did. But…

"I'm sorry," said Matthew honestly. "But I can't just sit back and wait on Kiku while they try to brainwash my brother. I know it's not the most rational thing, but I _have_ to take action. Alfred would do the same for me."

"Yes, he would!" agreed Arthur angrily. "And just look at what happened to him!"

"Arthur!" scolded Francis. "That's enough!"

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry. I didn't realize that we'd agreed it was all fine and dandy to send Matthew out in spite of the _fucking target on his back!"_ snapped Arthur. "Oh, yes, forgot _that_ little detail, didn't you? Aside from us, he's the kingdom's most bloody wanted!"

"We're all at risk no matter where we are, Arthur. Alfred was captured within the castle."

"Only because he went off on his own in the middle of an attack!"

"He-"

"Both of you, hush," said Matthew firmly. "Look, I know I disobeyed orders. I know it was stupid, reckless, and irresponsible, and I know you're worried. But I'm not coming back, and I _am_ out in the middle of a combat zone, so I'm going to have to switch out of this station before this argument gives away my position. Goodbye, you guys; I love you."

 _"Don't you dare-"_ hissed Arthur, only for Matthew to hear the sound of a scuffle.

"I know there's no changing your mind," said Francis. "We love you too, Matthew. Stay safe."

Matthew switched off that channel and took a deep breath.

_Don't worry, Al. I'm coming for you._


	16. Nothing Left to Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey! Don't be alarmed, I know I'm not updating weekly, and it's not 'cause I've abandoned the fic. Unfortunately, my irregular work schedule makes it really hard to put out regular updates. Yes, I know. "Even hearing that, this took forever!" I'll be honest with you; I got some pretty bad writer's block with this one, and it's a little bit choppy. Ended up writing basically 70% of it today by forcing myself through the parts I wasn't sure about, so it might be a little awkwardly-written at points, but I figured you guys have waited long enough.
> 
> WARNING: Slightly graphic genital agony that you may want to skim if you're squeamish about that sort of thing.

"So you finally got around to spending all those points?" inquired Ivan, eagerly taking a look around Alfred's cage. "And you even got a chest to store everything in! Oh, Alfred, I'm so proud of you!"

 _Click._ Alfred let out a relaxed sigh at the artificial bliss and got out of bed to retrieve his GBM. He couldn't see Ivan's alarm clock from his cage without his glasses, but he knew that his return generally meant it was time for dinner. For once, it was a welcome relief; he was inexplicably energetic despite the late hour. Energetic, and _hungry._ Alfred had always felt hunger a bit more strongly than other people, but it was getting practically unbearable, no doubt as a direct result of that 'protein powder' that Ivan had been lacing his water with. The only reason he'd waited to get food was because Ivan tended to share his meals if Alfred allowed him to feed him without a struggle.

Even so, Alfred couldn't hold himself back from piling things onto his list, stomach growling all the while. He needed a cheeseburger like nobody's business. With fries, of course. In fact, make that two servings of fries. Maybe an extra couple of patties on the burger. Three sodas? No, four. Oh, and maybe some fruit. There was a cup of apple slices somewhere, too. And oh, how could he forget chips? Lots and lots of chips. That would probably make him rather thirsty, though. He added another coke to the list. Oh, and dessert! He couldn't forget dessert…

By the end of it all, Alfred was left wondering how his point count had gone from over a thousand to the double digits.

"Would you like to come out of your cage, Alfred?" asked Ivan.

Alfred's head immediately jerked upwards.

"Y-yes, please, master," he said, still uncomfortable with the words he was forced to use, but unwilling to face retribution for disobedience.

Ivan held up the remote capable of sending Alfred crashing to the ground at the press of a button.

"No sudden movements," he ordered in a gentle tone that seemed at odds with the thinly-veiled threat in his words. With his other hand, Ivan pressed his finger to a scanner, unlocking Alfred's cage.

Alfred gingerly opened the door and shuffled on by. He tensed up when Ivan gave his rear a quick pat, but continued towards the table as though it hadn't happened.

"You've been very good lately," noted Ivan, taking a seat across from him. "I want you to know that I couldn't be more pleased! In fact, I think a little reward is in order."

Alfred wasn't sure what kind of a reward was in store for him, but whatever it was, he wanted no part in it. Every bit of encouragement he received to continue down the path of least resistance only amplified his shame. And yet, there was only one response he could muster:

"Thank you, master."

Ivan smiled. "I've had some new features added to your GBM. If you check the new 'Media' button, you'll find that I've added some eBooks and movies."

Overwhelmed by curiosity, and also simply because there wasn't a whole lot to do while he waited for dinner to arrive, Alfred returned to the homepage of the GBM and noted that yes, there was indeed a new button. Pressing it gave him the option of books, movies, or games, though the latter category was greyed out for the time being.

"Both of these things should be categories in the catalogue now," continued Ivan. "Unfortunately, there aren't any games yet, mostly because nothing has been made or ported to it. Again, this device _is_ a prototype, so you're going to have to forgive the incompleteness of the update. I gave you a few freebies, though. I hope that makes up for it!"

"Yes, master," said Alfred without even really paying attention to the conversation; his focus was on the content. Every last book in the _Little Invader_ series had been provided to him, in addition to every movie. He'd seen most of them before, and Ivan had read him all of the books, but he enjoyed the series enough to find most of them worth a re-watch. "Thank you."

Ivan blushed and twirled his hair around his finger like a shy schoolgirl. "It was nothing, really. I'm just glad you like them."

Alfred frowned. During such moments, it almost became easy to forget that he was still a prisoner liable to be tortured for disobedience. It was getting difficult to reconcile those two different versions of Ivan; the nice side that loved him and showered him with affection, and the one that wouldn't hesitate to hurt him. But then, even when he tortured Alfred, Ivan always made it a point to be patient with him. On the metal horse, the intensity had been toned down the moment he apologized. More than that, as long as he did a few simple household chores, he was given just about anything he wanted.

_Do I really have a right to be so scared and upset about this?_

His grip around the GBM tightened. The more he thought about it, the less terrible his situation seemed, at least compared to what other people in his situation had gone through. Compared to what _he_ might have gone through, had Ivan been a colder, crueler man. He might have been tortured non-stop regardless of his behavior and made to sleep on a cold dungeon floor. Hell, he might have been agonizingly executed over a period of weeks. Instead, he slept on a comfortable bed in quiet, well-lit room. Currently, he was waiting for food prepared by a team of professional chefs trained to serve royalty.

_I tried to kill myself over these conditions._

Alfred choked out a laugh. How pathetic was he?

"Pet, are you okay?" asked Ivan, looking concerned. He reached forward to wipe the tears out of Alfred's eyes that he hadn't even noticed were falling. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know," admitted Alfred.

Ivan stroked his hair.

"There, there. There's no need to get so emotional over such a simple little gift," said Ivan soothingly. "Hm… You look cuter with glasses."

"Sorry, master," responded Alfred automatically, without even thinking.

"Hush, now. I'll just have to get you a pair of fake glasses until you earn yours back," said Ivan. "Though I _do_ wonder how to handle it if you ever end up needing a new prescription. The nearest eye doctor is nearly an hour away. Hmm, well, I'm sure you'll be sufficiently trained by then to go out, don't you think?"

"Yes, master."

"Excellent!" chirped Ivan as a maid entered the room and began to set dishes down at the table. He regarded Alfred's sizable selection with an approving nod. "It's good to see you eating well. That protein powder is going to expend quite a lot of energy, so don't be afraid to indulge."

Alfred had never been the type to fear indulging himself. Unlike some, he'd been blessed with an excellent metabolism. Between that and all the exercise he usually engaged in, he'd never had any difficulty staying in shape.

Regardless, he wasn't sure there was anything that could stop him from shoveling food into his mouth as quickly as possible. Alfred wasn't sure how it was possible to be so hungry when he'd already consumed every last piece of kibble in his feeder. Even before he'd joined the rebellion, he'd always had enough self-control to make sure that he split everything evenly with Matthew. No matter how small the portion, they'd always find a way to share. Right then, though, he wasn't sure he could stop even under threat of death.

He prayed Ivan wouldn't see fit to order him to stop eating for some reason.

Thankfully, Ivan didn't seem to mind. He continued to talk as though nothing was out of the ordinary, even as Alfred quite literally licked his plate clean.

"We'll have to start packing for the gala next week," said Ivan, seemingly lost in thought. "Oh, and you still have to try on your suit!"

"Suit?" repeated Alfred, surprised. "I thought for sure that you were gonna make me wear a dress."

"As cute as it is around the castle, there are people at the gala who I would rather not have see you in a dress," admitted Ivan. "Well, _one_ person, really. And if that _one person_ were to find out the true nature of my feelings towards you, well, do you remember how I told you that murdering you right now amounts only to vandalism? Objects can't suffer, so torturing you to death wouldn't increase the charges."

Alfred swallowed. "Oh."

"Yes, it's quite unfortunate," said Ivan. "But anyway, it's very important that we make sure your suit is properly fitted. I wouldn't want you to spend the gala in discomfort."

"I thought you had all my measurements."

"We did," said Ivan, sipping vodka as though it were just water. "But those measurements were taken shortly after your capture while you were unconscious. You've lost some muscle mass since then, remember? The seamstress may need to make some alterations."

Of course. How had he forgotten? Alfred gazed down at his body with a frown.

"There's also the matter of sleeping arrangements to discuss," said Ivan, furrowing his brow. "Upsettingly enough, your living quarters are not quite as portable as I would have liked. I'm afraid you'll be staying in solitary confinement whenever I can't be with you. I'm so sorry, pet. If it's any consolation, you'll be provided with plenty of toys to keep yourself amused."

The news bothered Alfred more than it should have.

"Solitary confinement?" repeated Alfred slowly. "You mean, I'll be alone?"

"That _is_ what the word 'solitary' means, yes."

His hands began to tremble. "By myself?"

"I believe you just asked that question."

Memories of the box filled his mind like a dark haze. The shadows were coming for him. They wanted to tear apart his organs and leave him to bleed out on the floor. When had the air become so heavy? It was hard to breathe. His vision was blurring, the room was spinning, the world was-

-warm?

Alfred realized with bewilderment that he'd somehow ended up on Ivan's lap, wrapped up in a hug.

"Sssssh, it's okay," said Ivan. "I'm here. Everything is fine."

The humiliation of it all was the furthest thing from Alfred's mind as he clung to Ivan like a child that had just been told they were being sent away. Ivan rubbed his back and peppered his face with kisses. He would never say it out loud, but Alfred took comfort in the show of intimacy. He'd half-expected Ivan's hands to go for his pants, but they stayed very deliberately above his waistline.

"I can't," Alfred choked out. Shit. Since when had he started crying?

"Hush," said Ivan. "You may be kept in a cell, but I'll see to it that you're treated just as well there as you are here."

Alfred shook his head.

"Oh? Is something else bothering you?"

He nodded.

"What, then?"

Alfred chewed his lip and stared at the wall behind Ivan where it connected to the floor. He didn't want to answer that question. It was too stupid.

"Pet," said Ivan, squeezing him gently. "I asked you a question."

With a deep breath, Alfred voiced his answer:

"It's dark."

"Dark?" said Ivan. "You've never feared the dark before, not even recently. This room gets very dark at night, and you're still in your cage. What's the difference?"

It was true that he'd never feared the dark before, but the sensory deprivation had wrought havoc on his state of mind. As much as he hated to admit it… "You're here."

He couldn't logically explain why the presence of someone who should have only heightened his distress would put him at ease. At the very least, he felt confident in saying that it wasn't Ivan's presence in particular so much as the fact that someone, _anyone_ was with him. The shadows didn't seem so keen on crawling out of the darkness as long as there were other people present. More specifically, the _sounds_ of other people comforted him. Every breath was a reminder that he was real. The world around him was real. It wasn't just a terrible hallucination. At least, he hoped not.

Ivan nuzzled his cheek. "Oh, Alfred! I wish I could be there with you, I really do! Don't you worry your pretty little head, though. I'll be sure to get you a nightlight, okay? Would that help?"

Alfred nodded. As long as he could see, it was fine. Stupid as he knew it sounded, he just needed to know that the rest of the planet was still there. Feeling better, he reached down to get another bite of food.

His hand grasped at air. Alfred's shoulders slumped as he realized he'd consumed everything he'd been served.

"I take it you want some of mine?" inquired Ivan without being prompted. Alfred nodded, his gaze focused on the table. At least he didn't have to lose more dignity asking. Not that he had much left by that point, of course, but his finite reserves were all the more reason to be conservative with what he chose to give it up for. Given that Ivan was eating soup, he wasn't thrilled about the prospect of using the same spoon that Ivan had been putting in his mouth, but he was so, _so_ hungry. "I would be more than happy to share. There's just one little thing that I want you to do for me first."

Knowing Ivan, it was something unwholesome. "What's that?"

"I just want you to say a little something, that's all," said Ivan, his cheeks tinted pink. Alfred braced himself for something dirty. "Say, 'I love you, master.' "

Alfred's eyes widened. He'd been prepared to say something obscene, but _that_ was simultaneously _better_ than what he'd expected and much, _much_ worse.

"I don't know if I can," admitted Alfred softly.

"Oh, come now, I'm not expecting you to genuinely love me just yet," said Ivan, though in a way that made it sound like he took Alfred coming to love him as an inevitability. "I just want to hear you _say_ it. It's okay if it isn't true. Or is that really too difficult for you?"

Ivan used the spoon to stir the soup. Alfred couldn't help but lick his lips.

"Fine," said Alfred at last. He took a deep breath, expelling pride as well as carbon dioxide in the process. "I, um, I l-love you, master."

It was the most halfhearted profession of love that he'd ever _heard,_ let alone _uttered,_ and he fully expected Ivan to find it unsatisfactory enough to demand he repeat himself. Oddly enough, however, his words seemed to prove adequate. As usual, Ivan's giddy blush and giggle masked his propensity towards violence as a means of keeping people in line.

_Clickclickclick._

His brain was flooded with bliss.

"I love you, too, Alfred!" said Ivan. "Now, open wide!"

That was one order that Alfred didn't hesitate to obey. He didn't even wait for Ivan to blow on the spoon before he had it in his mouth, even as it scalded his tongue. Vegetables weren't usually his thing, but he would have eaten anything in his desperation.

"Now what do you say?" asked Ivan before he got another spoonful.

"Thank you, master," said Alfred immediately. He was disturbed by just how easily those words spilled from his lips. Surely it was okay, though. He didn't mean them. He _knew_ he didn't mean them. He was just avoiding unnecessary suffering through inconsequential acts of compliance, that was all. Wasn't he?

Just like that, Ivan fed him everything that was left of the soup and sides. Alfred tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was still in Ivan's lap, though he'd been shifted around several times so as not to cut off the circulation in his legs. He wasn't as heavy as he'd been, but he was still an adult male.

"All done! You ate quite a lot today, didn't you?" said Ivan, petting Alfred's head. "Now, why don't we try on your suit? Stand up a moment."

Once they were standing, Ivan strode over to the closet door. With a swipe of his finger, it was open, and he stepped inside to rifle through the articles within. Alfred didn't dare follow. He didn't want Ivan to think that he was sneaking up on him.

"Here we are!" said Ivan, pulling out something black.

Initially, Alfred didn't quite understand when he came back and held it up for him. It looked a little like a tuxedo, but the sleeves were all weird and pinned to the front. It almost looked like-

"A straitjacket," realized Alfred unenthusiastically.

"Oh, don't think of it as a straitjacket," said Ivan. "It's a _safety suit,_ meant to protect you just as much as it's meant to protect others! Just think, if you were to hurt someone at the gala, you'd be put to death on the spot!"

It wasn't worth arguing the point. At least the pants looked normal. Best to savor the small victories, Alfred supposed. "I guess."

"Good, then take off your clothes. We have to make sure it fits."

The pants were the easy part. Ivan didn't even require him to remove his underwear, allowing him to retain at least a little modesty as he put them on. They fit about as well as any other pair of suit pants he'd ever worn, if not better, though they were still somewhat restrictive in a manner that was typical of formalwear. The dress shoes, too, were fairly normal, at least aside from the chain linking them together. Alfred suspected they had the same mechanics in place as the high heels.

Once his shirt was removed Alfred stood uncomfortably still as Ivan wrapped him up in the 'safety suit.' Initially, it wasn't all that bad. He still felt as though he could squeeze out of it if he had to. Well, at least before Ivan _tightened_ it. As soon as it was on for real, he found himself with very little wiggle room. It wasn't _physically_ uncomfortable, but _emotionally_ was another story. At least in handcuffs, he could still move his arms. The jacket left him feeling completely helpless, especially when Ivan approached his neck with a strip of blue fabric. It would be so easy to strangle him, and he would barely be able to defend himself. It was hard to keep his breathing under control.

"Do you like it?" asked Ivan.

"No," said Alfred before he could even think about the answer. He couldn't help it. He actually would have preferred the dress. "I, um, I mean…"

"It's okay if you don't," Ivan assured him as he began tying the fabric. "You still have to wear it, though, I'm afraid."

"Okay," was all Alfred, in his state of near-panic, could think to say in response. Okay? _Okay?_ It was most certainly _not_ okay. "Do I have to go?"

"But of course. I have to show everyone how much progress you've made," said Ivan, pulling his hands away. "There! Done. Go on, look at yourself in the mirror!"

Alfred turned to face the mirror on the wardrobe.

"A bowtie?" he said, somehow unsurprised. It was bright blue and patterned with little white hearts.

"I thought it would add an element of fun to the whole outfit," said Ivan. "Anyway, hold still. I want to see how it looks with the mask."

Ivan pressed the black muzzle he'd gotten used to wearing for his cooking lessons against his face and secured it into place. Just when Alfred thought he'd been restricted enough, he was reintroduced to his collar and chain leash.

"I feel ridiculous," he murmured.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think you look very handsome," said Ivan, stroking his cheek. There was pretty much nothing Alfred could have done to resist even if he was willing to be disciplined for it. At least Ivan didn't think he looked silly. Alfred was a 'trophy,' right? He wouldn't have him looking too ridiculous in front of other people, would he?

"Thank you, master," he said, still plagued by uncertainty.

"Think nothing of it, pet. Stay behaved, and you won't have to suffer again."

Physically, at least.

* * *

 

The door clicked shut as the guard responsible for checking in on him left. It had been a simple conversation, really.

"Are you okay?" he'd asked.

No. Of course he wasn't okay. "Yeah."

"Okay."

And that had been it. No friendly chit-chat, no fearful or angry glares. Just apathy, as though even he had come to see Alfred as beneath his notice. He knew it shouldn't have driven him so crazy, but it bothered him all the same.

More immediately pressing, however, was his state of affairs after the guard was gone.

Alfred was bored.

It wasn't an abnormal state of affairs, of course. Without any classes but Etiquette, and with only simple chores around Ivan's room, he always ended up back in his kennel by three or so. It wasn't _so_ bad. He'd recovered enough that he could actually work out a little, and the numbers he was able to reach in terms of push-ups had rapidly increased ever since Ivan introduced that non-ball-shrinking steroid-esque drug. He'd never considered _forty_ a particularly impressive milestone, but given how bony and weak he'd gotten before, it was worlds of improvement.

Still, about a half an hour later, after he'd thoroughly exhausted himself into a hot, sweaty mess, he was left wishing that he'd seen fit to get something else from the catalogue. He still had some leftover clay, but he couldn't think of anything else worth making with it. There were some movies on his GBM, but he'd already exhausted everything that he hadn't already seen the other day. He browsed the catalogue for entertainment, but the nonsexual options were all rather childish. True, he himself was somewhat childish, but he drew the line at playing with dolls. As for the sexual things, well, he wasn't about to-

Alfred swallowed. When had it gotten so hot? That was all just because of the exercise, right?

Brushing it off as nothing to worry about, he continued to look through the catalogue, carefully holding the device at a distance that enabled him to see. Fortunately, he'd always had an easier time making out things that were closer, so as long as he kept it close to his face, it was all mostly legible. If only they weren't all sex toys! Still, some of them had some pretty funny names. He supposed it couldn't hurt to look through them just for a laugh.

 _'Mega Dick 69,'_ was the name of a rather ordinary-looking one. That got a snicker. Oh, and the _'Dual Shock Cock,'_ which came with a sleeve to wrap around his length. Even better. In fact, it was so ridiculous that Alfred could feel his face going red.

A vibrator caught his eye.

_'Prostate Obliterator.'_

That one sent him into a fit of hysterical laughter until tears began streaming from his eyes. In hindsight, it wasn't _that_ funny, but his life had been so devoid of humor lately that he couldn't help but lose it.

And yet…

Alfred groaned and crossed his legs. There was no more denying it. That other side effect Ivan had mentioned was beginning to kick in. His whole body was hot and sweaty, and not just because he'd been working out. It certainly wasn't helping that he'd gotten off exactly two times in the past, oh, how long had it been? Weeks? Months? Surely he hadn't been there _that_ long. Had he?

In any case, both of those times had been by Ivan's hand. Other than that, though, the thought of Ivan's impending theft of his virginity had stayed his hand. There was just something so uncomfortable and _wrong_ about rubbing one off behind enemy lines.

Ha. _'Behind enemy lines.'_ As though he could still consider himself a _soldier._

Alfred flopped down on his stomach onto his bed. He lasted about a minute before he had to turn over and free his unwanted erection from the pain of being crushed against his abdomen.

_Would it go away if I just took care of it really quick?_

It seemed like a logical first step. There was only one problem. 'Good pets' weren't supposed to touch themselves without permission, and even if Ivan were there, he could _never_ stoop so far as to ask that.

_There's always the ticket._

Alfred reluctantly pulled up the 'tickets' page. There was a single ticket in stock for the day; one penalty-free orgasm by any means of his choosing. He had the points. That left just one problem.

Ivan had access to his entire purchase history.

There was no way in Hell he could buy that.

Groaning with frustration, he curled up into a ball and did his best to ignore the problem. He wasn't an animal. He could deal with it. All he needed to do was take a few deep breaths. Maybe a nap. Alfred closed his eyes and did his best to relax.

_Go away go away go away go away-_

It wasn't going away. In fact, it was so keen on sticking around that it pitched a tent in his underwear. Worse still, it was starting a campfire.

He couldn't purchase the ticket. It was practically an ultimate surrender. To use it was to accept Ivan's ownership of his sexuality. And yet, hadn't he already decided to avoid pointless risks? Hadn't he told himself that he didn't want to suffer meaninglessly? How much had he surrendered already just to keep out of trouble? Besides, what if that 'special punishment' Ivan mentioned was that box? He couldn't go back in there. Not again. The first time had cracked him. A second would _break_ him.

_How would Ivan ever know?_

Alfred pursed his lips. He was alone. The guard had already shown up, meaning that the only person he had to worry about returning that day was Ivan himself, and he wouldn't be back until court was out of session. Sometimes even later. That gave him at least an hour to himself. His length twitched in anticipation, as though the molestation it had endured had left it unaffected. In fairness, Alfred supposed that it had been his mind that had suffered more than his body from the abuse.

 _Besides,_ the voice added, _can you really call it abuse?_

_No. That's crazy. Of course it was abuse._

_You wanted it. You wanted him to push his fingers inside you and jam them into your prostate until you couldn't even think coherently enough to feel shame anymore._

Alfred tried to reassure himself that it was just the drug talking. There was no way he could have wanted something so horrible. Not in a million years! Even so, the horrible thoughts weren't enough to wilt his dripping cock, which were starting to stain the fabric of his pants. He couldn't give in. He absolutely, positively _couldn't_ give in. Ivan would, Ivan would…

_Ivan would never have to know. You could reassert control of your own body. It would almost be like a victory._

With a deep, apprehensive breath, and eyes flickering back and forth across the room as though he expected someone to burst in at any moment, Alfred unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the front of his underwear, and wrapped his hand around his own length.

A high-pitched whine escaped his lips.

Oh, _fuck yes._

His hand began to move. He knew the walls were virtually soundproof, but he tried to keep quiet all the same. Every last noise was enough to startle him; noises he'd never even noticed before. The whir of the heater. The birds on the balcony. The gentle sway of the solar system lights up above. Even so, he continued, his heart beating a mile a minute as he leaned against the back wall of his cage and panted with delight.

It wasn't long before Alfred began to notice that no matter what he did with his hand, no matter how quickly or slowly he moved it up and down along his length, the pleasure wasn't even close to what he'd felt at Ivan's hand. It was that damned increased sensitivity he'd been subjected to, and he knew it, but there was still an element of disappointment that he couldn't reach that kind of a high again.

_You wanted it._

Alfred's legs twitched, and he spread them further apart, though he wasn't quite sure what that was actually going to accomplish. He wasn't going to finger-fuck himself without being cleaned out, and he wasn't about to spend a ticket on a shower so he could request the supplies to give himself a fucking enema. No, he was only trying to get off as quickly as possible so that he didn't have to spend the next hour or so hard as a rock.

But then, if he was going for speed, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to try and think about something that would finish him faster, right?

Unfortunately, the first face that popped into his head was Ivan's. Though his cock responded with delight as a result of learned association, he quickly pushed it out of his mind, thoroughly disgusted with himself. It had to be someone else. _Anyone_ else.

Matthew's face appeared. Okay, maybe not _anyone_ else. _Gross._

Kiku? Alfred's hand slowed. No. Maybe once, a long time ago, but _no._

Going nowhere fast, Alfred mentally blurred out the face and tried to go with something a little more generic. What was his ideal guy, anyway? Big, strong… Someone a little like what he liked to think he'd been before his capture. Not just a carbon copy, though. It had to be someone romantic, who showered him with affection while still being able to call him out on his bullshit.

_Ivan loves you._

Alfred nearly gagged at the thought. Ivan loved his _body._ Ivan loved _controlling_ him. 'Calling him out on his bullshit' didn't mean _torturing him for minor infractions._

_You brought it on yourself. He never would have hurt you if you'd just listened._

Alfred groaned, and not from pleasure. Were such unpleasant debates with himself actually succeeding in ridding him of his erection, he might not have minded so much, but all it was accomplishing was making him take longer. Ten minutes had already passed. He had to hurry. In an attempt to refocus himself on the task at hand, he tried to imagine Generic Hot Guy spreading his legs. Unfortunately, Ivan's hands were the only ones that had ever done that to him, and it briefly stayed his hand. The harder he tried _not_ to see his face, the more he _did._

With a deep breath, Alfred continued.

 _'Is this okay?'_ the generic apparition would ask.

"Yes," Alfred gasped quietly in response. Much as he wanted to close his eyes and let his imagination run wild, he knew he had to keep watch. Best to just picture it in his head.

 _'That's good,'_ said the apparition. _'I'm going to put it in, okay?'_

Alfred nodded his head.

He kept his eyes away from his still mostly-clothed lower half, focusing completely on the door. Though he couldn't _really_ feel the apparition slowly pushing its imaginary cock into his body, the thought was enough to bring him closer to the edge. It had never been the idea of anal sex itself that he'd been averse to. Even the idea casual sex didn't particularly repulse him, though he'd never had the opportunity to try. Even so, that didn't make it okay for Ivan to want to force himself on him. Not wanting that in spite of still having sexual desires was normal, right? People could like the idea of sex without necessarily wanting to have sex with _anything,_ couldn't they? Just because his body had enjoyed it, it didn't mean he had. It was still against his will. It was still wrong.

It had to be.

'Harder,' mouthed Alfred, unwilling to put a voice behind the words, as though Ivan might burst through the door at any moment to give him exactly what he was asking for.

 _'I love you,'_ said the apparition.

_That sounds like something Ivan would say._

He couldn't stop. He was so close. Shame filled him to the very brim, but it felt _so fucking good!_ Just a _little more!_ Alfred cried out and collapsed down onto his back, eyes squeezed shut.

'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me,'_ he mouthed, hand moving at a rapid pace up and down his needy sex. He was so close.

 _'I love you,'_ said the apparition again. Already past the point of no return, Alfred realized with growing horror that it looked _exactly like Ivan._

 _"Fuck,"_ he gasped as the heat reached its peak. White seed gushed from his slit, spilling from him in rapid, intermittent surges.

As his irregular breathing slowed, and he sat up to make sure that no one had entered the room while his attention had lapsed, Alfred did his best to come to terms with the fact that he'd just climaxed to the thought of Ivan fucking him. He couldn't believe it. He didn't _want_ to believe it. It didn't make any _sense!_ He _hated_ Ivan. He would _never…_ But he _had!_ Could he even consider anything Ivan did to be against his will after that? But, but…

The floor creaked, but a quick glance made it clear that it was just the castle settling.

Still in shock, Alfred immediately realized that he had to clean up the evidence before he took the time to wallow in self-loathing. He leapt to his feet and hurriedly wiped up what little droplets of sperm hadn't already been absorbed into his clothing with his hands. All he had to do was wash it all away, and nobody would ever have to know. Limp penis still hanging out, he waddled over to the sink to stick his hands into the pair of cleansing tubes to rinse away his shame. He sighed with relief as the water was sprayed at his hands and arms from all directions. Everything was going to be just fine. Ivan would never-

_Beep!_

Before Alfred could react, something inside the sink clamped down on his wrists.

 _"Sperm detected,"_ said the sink in a robotic voice. Alfred's eyes widened. No, there was _no fucking way._ That was too ridiculous! _"Testing origins… Jones, Alfred. Orgasm permissions detected: NONE."_

"No," whispered Alfred, as though a heartless machine might show him a little mercy.

 _"Alert message sent,"_ it said in a voice that was almost as cold as the blood frozen in Alfred's veins. More soap and water was sprayed over Alfred's arms, and for a moment, he thought it might actually let him go once he was clean. At least he could pull his pants up. Maybe try to convince Ivan that it was a glitch in the system, and he had no idea what it was talking about. _"Administering punitive restraints…"_

Pain exploded in his arms, like they were being stabbed from all conceivable angles. The only response he could manage in response to the shock was a gasp of agony. A quick glance inside made the reason clear; his arms _were_ being stabbed from all conceivable angles by needles of varying thicknesses. Just to make sure he didn't just relax and get used to it, however, another group of needles jammed their way into his flesh, leaving the others to withdraw. He tried to keep still, but he couldn't help but scream and tug, which only heightened his suffering. Unfortunately (or fortunately, in that it limited the damage he was doing to himself) the unsharpened restraints around his wrists kept him from tearing his skin to ribbons by pulling or twisting them too far.

Time ticked away as the spikes continued to torture him on autopilot. His legs trembled beneath him as he cried and prayed for someone to show up and free him, but collapsing and _hanging_ by his arms would only make it worse. Minutes passed, then an hour. Each time he began to grow numb to the sensation of being stabbed in particular places, something painful and stinging would be sprayed over his wounds that seemed to stop the blood loss, only for the assault to continue in other areas.

The dreaded sound of the door opening behind him came as a relief.

"Well, well, well?" said Ivan, sounding more amused than anything else. "What have we here?"

"P-please, make it stop!" pleaded Alfred, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Oh?" said Ivan, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want me to help you? You, who disobeyed my very explicit instructions? I _told_ you not to touch yourself, and what did you do?"

Desperation set in. Maybe he could fib his way out? "I-I didn't! I didn't, I didn't, I didn't!" was all Alfred could squeal.

"And yet here you are, exposed and in pain," mused Ivan. "A machine malfunction coupled with a misunderstanding? That's a very interesting little coincidence. I had this tested _very_ extensively, but if you _insist,_ I can have the water inside tested for sperm. If you're telling the truth, I would of course ensure compensation for undue suffering. If you were _lying,_ however, I suppose I could always just have the nerves in your genitals stripped away so you couldn't feel anything in it anymore; you wouldn't get any anesthesia, of course, to reinforce the message. Oh, and ample adrenaline, too, in case you pass out. A surgery like that would be incredibly agonizing, you know, especially if I maxed out your sensitivity to pain! Oh, it's fine, though; I only really need you to be able to feel anything in your prostate, anyway."

It was over. Ivan had him cornered. Alfred knew he had no choice but to fess up and beg for mercy.

"I-I'm s-sorry," he stammered through tears.

"Oh? For what?" said Ivan with an eerie smile. "Isn't it just a malfunction?"

"I-I'm s-sorry I t-t-touched myself, master!" wept Alfred. "P-please d-don't- I w-won't- I d-didn't _know,_ I'm _sorry!_

Ivan flipped an unseen switch on the side of the sink that was outside Alfred's cage. Immediately, the spikes stopped, and more of the spray-on bandage was administered to stop the flow of blood. His wrists were released, and he collapsed to his hands and knees, sobbing miserably as he tried to cover up his shamefully exposed genitals.

"Pull up your pants, Alfred," said Ivan firmly. "We're going to take a walk to the medical wing."

Alfred's crying increased in volume, and he fearfully scooted himself backwards until he was up against the back of his cage, hands protectively covering the vulnerability between his legs. He couldn't handle that kind of torture. Had he known it was what awaited him, he wouldn't have even _begun_ to consider disobeying. "N-no, _please!_ Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry!"_

Ivan shut his body down, leaving him in a helpless heap on the ground. "I'm sorry, pet, but you've forced my hand. Not only did you disobey me, but you thought you could _lie_ your way out of punishment. This kind of behavior is unacceptable."

He opened the cage door and stepped towards Alfred.

"NO!" wailed Alfred, completely and utterly terrified beyond belief. He could feel his hysteria rising with every passing second. He was at a point where he would do anything to lessen his punishment. _Anything._ _"Please!_ Anything but that! Please, _master,_ no!"

Ivan lifted him into the air. Alfred knew better than to try and bite, but he still brought his head against Ivan's chest out of hope that he would respond better to affection and subservience.

"Master," he whimpered pathetically, nuzzling Ivan's chest. He knew how much Ivan liked that word. "Master, I'm sorry. Master, I'll do better. Master, _I'll be a good pet!"_

Ivan didn't even _look_ at him, and they were already nearing the bedroom door. He had to think of something, and _fast._

"Master," said Alfred, eyes closed with shame. "I was thinking about _you."_

He could feel Ivan stop for a moment, and Alfred allowed a bubble of hope to form in his chest.

"I told you not to lie, pet," said Ivan in a strange, unnervingly monotone voice. Alfred knew that he was treading very, _very_ dangerous waters.

"I-I didn't, a-at first," Alfred continued to babble on, ignoring the salty taste on his lips as the tears dripped into his mouth. "I tried my best not to, b-but when I- when I- _you know,_ it was your face a-a-above me." His face, if it wasn't already red enough, grew even redder. "F-f-" No swearing, right. Never before had he been so relieved to have that rule forcing him to censor himself. "D- _doing_ me."

Something warm touched his lips. Alfred opened his eyes to find Ivan kissing him.

He wanted to be disgusted, but he was so relieved that he just opened his mouth and let it happen. Ivan still seemed hesitant about putting his tongue between Alfred's teeth. Still trying to do everything in his power to keep Ivan happy, he stuck his own tongue into the domain of his master for him to do with as he pleased. He could feel Ivan moaning into his mouth as he nipped at Alfred's tongue, and he took it without complaint.

Alfred tried his best to ignore the fact that his softened cock had stiffened up a bit under Ivan's onslaught.

Eventually, Ivan broke away. It was the moment of truth. Alfred averted his eyes from Ivan's as he'd been taught in his Etiquette class, silently begging for forgiveness.

"I can't overlook your transgression, pet," began Ivan, and Alfred's breath hitched. But? _But?_ "However, your remorse seems genuine enough. I suppose I could let you off with a lighter punishment, provided that you cooperate without complaint."

Alfred released his held breath, and his head collapsed against Ivan's chest. "Yes, master," he hiccupped. "Anything."

Ivan set him down on the bed and restored movement to his limbs. Alfred sat up slowly and wiped the tears and mucus from his face, still shaking and hiccupping. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

His maid uniform and muzzle were set down on the bed.

"Dress yourself," ordered Ivan firmly. Alfred silently stood and acceded to the demand by stripping off all of the clothing he was wearing already, even as the injuries in his arms made every motion of his hands complete and utter torture. "Have you ever skinned your knuckles, Alfred?"

"Yes, sir," said Alfred quietly as he pulled on the stockings, followed by the shoes, which locked into place without much effort. He was- or, well, he'd _been_ a soldier, once upon a time. He'd skinned his knuckles punching things more times than he could count, at least until the skin had grown thicker. Little white scars still dotted the flesh of those joints.

"Good," said Ivan, preparing Alfred's chain leash. "Would you say that you found it somewhat painful?"

"Yes, sir," said Alfred again as he pulled the dress over his head and slipped his arms into the sleeves. It wasn't as bad as being repeatedly stabbed by spikes, of course, but it left them tender to the touch even after they began to heal. They stung like bees every time he showered, and the slightest friction was- _oh._

Alfred swallowed, but continued to dress himself. It would still be better than the alternative.

"Good boy. I trust you at least partially understand by now what I'm going to do to you," said Ivan, patting his head comfortingly.

Shaking with fearful anticipation of what was to come, Alfred pressed his muzzle to his face and clipped it on.

"Yes, sir," said Alfred, picking up the handcuffs. He clipped one to his left wrist, then held the other one out to Ivan. "M-master, I, um, I can't handcuff my own wrists."

"Of course not. Allow me," said Ivan, locking the other one firmly into place. "Now, Alfred, I'm going to explain in detail what's going to happen to you, so sit down. You are not to move until I tell you to stand."

Alfred sat down.

"First," said Ivan, clipping the leash around Alfred's neck, "you will walk ahead of me, swiftly and silently. We will be heading to the medical wing. You will remain quiet as I get ahold of someone to administer your punishment. When the doctor brings us to the table, you will remove all of your clothes, sit down, and place your legs in the stirrups. Do you understand so far?"

"Yes, sir," said Alfred, trying not to reflexively squeeze his legs together.

_It's your own fault. You just couldn't swallow your pride and get the ticket. You have only yourself to blame._

"You will be chained into place," said Ivan, hands folded behind his back as he paced slowly back and forth in front of Alfred. "I don't expect you to be able to control yourself, so the restraints will prevent your reflexive struggling from making the doctor's job more difficult. However, you will _not,_ at any point, ask that the procedure be stopped. You will _not,_ at any point, plead for relief or mercy. You will _not,_ at any point, insult or threaten the doctor, nor me. You _will,_ however, be permitted to voice remorse for your rule-breaking, and gratitude for the time being wasted by everyone involved to teach you to behave. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. Um, wh-what-"

Ivan smacked him. Not a playful smack like the ones from Matthew, either. It was the sort of force that practically knocked him over and left a stinging red handprint that would almost certainly bruise later.

"Did I give you permission to ask questions?" asked Ivan coldly. Alfred trembled, not because the pain had overwhelmed him (indeed, the injuries in his arms were far worse, already beginning to bruise where they weren't already covered in bright red puncture wounds) but out of fear that he might change Ivan's mind about his _true_ punishment. Instinctively, he brought his hand up to rub where he'd been struck, but Ivan seized his aching arm and _squeezed_ before he could. "Did I give you permission to tend to your injuries?"

"N-no, sir. Sorry," said Alfred quickly. He didn't like the look Ivan was giving him. It wasn't _angry_ – Ivan was never _angry_ with him – but it was very stern. No, more than that, it was downright _predatory._ "I wasn't thinking."

"No, I don't believe you were," agreed Ivan. "Now, stand."

The chains jingled as he stood. The guards on either side of the door (and Alfred, having forgotten entirely that they were there whenever Ivan showed up, dared not meet their eyes; they had, after all, witnessed the complete obliteration of his remaining dignity) opened them for their passage. Physically and emotionally exhausted, Alfred kept his mouth tightly shut as he walked down the hallway like a convict to an execution. He knew it was his own stupid fault. Everything had been fine. Ivan had been okay. Nice, even. He'd had it so good that he questioned whether or not he could even be called a prisoner. And then, just like that, he'd fucked it all up trying to get some tiny, insignificant victory. His arms hurt like Hell, and his genitals were going to follow suit momentarily.

_I really am a brain-damaged idiot, aren't I?_

Ivan gently pushed him through the door of the medical wing. He even gave Alfred a reassuring kiss on the forehead.

"Be a good boy and go sit over there while I check you in."

He handed Alfred the end of the leash and directed him to a chair in the corner by a fish tank. Once more, he did as he was told. The whole situation seemed so surreal. Dreamlike, even. From his breakdown, to the actions he'd taken to get himself into the whole mess in the first place… He just had to keep telling himself that everything would go back to normal once he'd been punished. Ivan would go back to being-

Could he call it kindness? He was still a prisoner, wasn't he?

It wasn't long before Ivan returned. Alfred immediately returned the leash to him to hold. Once more, he was led down a hallway, albeit a much smaller one than the one outside. It reminded him a little bit of the torture chamber in the dungeon, but not quite as oppressive. When they entered the room where he was to be disciplined, there was even sunlight shining through a window.

"Undress and sit down in the chair," said the doctor. A part of Alfred had been hoping it would be Tino. At least he would have been kinder about the whole thing. Even if Ivan wouldn't let him show it, Alfred felt like he could trust him to be sympathetic to whatever pain he was expected to endure. Instead, he recognized it as the doctor who'd complained about him shortly after he'd woken up following his suicide attempt.

Regardless, Alfred stripped down without another word. The chair, much like the one in the shower, was a gynecology-style device with restraints. Both Ivan and the doctor got to work strapping him into place. They went around his ankles, above his knees, on either side of his elbows, and around his wrists. The ones on his arms further aggravated the wounds, but he bit back a whimper.

"Should I give him a stimulant to expose the most surface area?" asked the doctor.

"If you think it will help," answered Ivan.

Alfred yelped and tugged at the restraints when the needle of a syringe was jammed into the base if his cock. He was far too scared to feel aroused, but whatever they'd just injected into him was rapidly coaxing his flaccid cock back to hardness.

"Alright, I'll go get his treatment while the medication gets to work," said the doctor.

"I'll come with you," said Ivan, cheerfully following the doctor out of the room. "See you in a few minutes, Alfred! Sit tight!"

Ha. Haha. Like he could do anything else.

Alfred took deep breaths. No two ways about it; he was _terrified._ What was going to happen to him? Sure, he got the gist of Ivan's plan, but what was the _method?_ It couldn't be anything particularly sloppy or barbaric if it was being done in the medical wing, right? Unless, of course, it was so terrible and dangerous that it could only be done by a doctor without either killing him or making any aesthetic changes that Ivan found displeasing.

He looked away from his vulnerable, artificially stiffened erection towards a table covered in all sorts of medical devices, most of which had names he was unfamiliar with. There were sharp scalpels, tweezer-like things, scissor-type devices… What were they going to do? Cut it? Burn it? Masturbate it with a cheese grater? Every possibility his imagination came up with was worse than the last. Any of it would be painful enough on its own, but Ivan could easily decide to increase the amount of pain he felt if he thought Alfred wasn't suffering enough.

Alfred did his best not to hyperventilate. The anticipation was probably the worst part. He just wanted it over with already. His stomach was twisting and turning, and his head felt lighter than air. If he had to wait one more minute, he was going to pass out. In training, he'd been through classes on how to manage his fight or flight response, but it had never been information he'd had a particular need for, given that he just about always picked 'fight.' Usually, that had been more than sufficient. However, under Ivan's control, he was helpless. His situation was unwinnable. There was no fighting. There wasn't even any fleeing. There was only obedience or pain.

Needless to say, it was a feeling he was still learning to deal with.

The door opened. Alfred expected to see some horrible instrument of torture. What he didn't expect to see was the doctor carrying a strange tube, like toothpaste or ointment, which he set down on the tray beside him. He snapped on a pair of thick-looking blue gloves, prompting Alfred to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I'm going to sterilize the area first," said the doctor.

"Of course. Make all the preparations you need," said Ivan, taking a seat in a nearby chair to pull out his phone. "I'm going to reply to some emails."

Alfred recognized the weird sheet being draped over his groin from the handful of surgeries he'd witnessed back home from the other side of a glass, praying all the while that the person under it would survive. It was meant to keep the area being worked on sterile. Whatever was going to happen to him, it was going to be bloody. A hole was cut into the drape to allow his sex to poke through while covering the surrounding, non-sterile area, which only increased the rate of his heartbeat.

A weird, orange-ish solution was spread over his length with a swab. He shuddered, trying not to focus on how nice it felt. Not just because it was embarrassing, but because it would only make it harder for him to brace himself.

"All sterile," said the doctor, taking the tube in hand and unscrewing the cap. The lettering on it was unrecognizable. Alfred could only assume it was a foreign language. "Is this even legal in this country?"

"The procedure is illegal to perform on human beings here, but the contents of the tube is perfectly okay to possess!" clarified Ivan cheerfully without looking up from his phone. "Be sure to explain what it is to Alfred. I don't believe he's well-versed in foreign culture."

Alfred threw his head back against the table. Damn it, Ivan was intentionally drawing it out as long as he possibly could just to see him suffer in fear!

"As you wish, my prince," said the doctor, squeezing out a glob of something white and gooey onto his gloved hand. Notably, he took great care in keeping it off of his skin, even as he rubbed it all over his gloves. "This is an anti-masturbatory cream produced for use as either a punishment or a preventative. It's a slow-acting acid specifically created to cause immense pain in the process of stripping away layers of skin on the penis or clitoris. Depending on how long it's left on, the effects can be anything from recoverable to permanently damaging."

"Speaking of pain, I'll be giving you a multiplier of ten," said Ivan, turning a dial on the remote to the signal amplifier in Alfred's spine. "Be strong, pet. It'll only be for an hour."

Alfred closed his eyes and took slow, unsteady breaths.

The moment the so-called 'doctor' set his hands on Alfred's genitals, he immediately understood why such a treatment would be illegal in most cases.

 _"Holy fuck!_ Fuck, shit, _fu-hu-huuuuuck!"_ screamed Alfred, writhing in an inferno of agony. It felt like someone had doused his cock in alcohol and set it on fire.

"I'll be nice and only count that as one swear," said Ivan, clicking a button that Alfred was beyond caring about.

It was already unbearably awful, but the 'doctor' wasn't yet done. Alfred watched helplessly as he squeezed another glob of cream from the tube to rub mercilessly into the head of his length, carefully taking his sweet time to get it in every conceivable area. Even his slit wasn't spared the torment. He wanted to beg for it to end, but Ivan had made it very clear that it wasn't allowed.

More of the agonizing goop was rubbed up and down his length, burning the sensitive skin like a handjob from the sun. He screamed and cried until his throat was hoarse. He wasn't allowed to beg for mercy, but he made a valiant effort to win Ivan's pity.

"I'm sorry!" he wheezed, his throat raw. "I'm so, so sorry, master! Please forgive me!"

"Of course, pet, of _course,"_ said Ivan pleasantly. "As soon as your punishment is complete, you will have earned your forgiveness. Now, wasn't there something else you wanted to say?"

He'd hoped to avoid that, but he'd already thrown away his shame. Alfred could finally say with absolute certainty that, aside from his actual virginity, he had little else left to lose.

"Thank you!" he said through tears. "Thank you for p-punishing me!"

He spent most of the next hour weeping as the acidic compound burned away the outermost layer of the skin of his cock. After about half the time had elapsed, droplets of red blood joined the white salve, turning it pink. Several times, he passed out when the pain became too great for him to bear, but a shot of adrenaline would always wake him back up so he could fully appreciate just how horrible his life choices had been. At least his cock had finally softened.

Occasionally, he would break into a stream of profuse apologies, but it accomplished little other than making him feel foolish. At some point, his arms began to feel damp again. In a daze, he looked up to see that many of the wounds had reopened (or, rather, the liquid bandage had worn away) in his struggles and begun to bleed again.

When he heard the _beep_ of a timer going off, and the doctor began preparing to clean away the acidic salve covering his bleeding length, Alfred fully expected relief. Unfortunately, even the soft, damp cloth used to wipe away the burning cream seared his flesh with intolerable friction. Even when all was said and done, and his length was exposed to nothing but air, it went on burning like a stove top set to simmer.

Once more, the doctor disinfected the area. Unlike the first time, it felt like he'd just stuck his cock in a wasp's nest, resulting in a shriek as he pulled back the foreskin and swabbed the sensitive tip.

"Just give me a moment to bandage him up," said the doctor, wrapping a roll of them semi-loosely around Alfred's unbelievably sore length. He'd never had his genitals bandaged before. "The bleeding should stop soon enough as long as the area isn't aggravated further. With proper care, he should be back to normal in a few weeks. If he's still bleeding after a few hours, bring him back."

"Of course! Thank you, doctor," said Ivan gratefully, undoing Alfred's restraints. "Do you think you can walk, pet?"

Alfred shook his head, still trembling with shock. He didn't know if it was the pain or the adrenaline, but if he got to his feet, he was going to collapse face-first.

"There, there. I've got you," Ivan assured him with a kiss. "Good boy. You took it well, didn't you?"

Alfred wasn't sure what the right answer was supposed to be. He was just relieved to be a 'good boy' again. "Thank you, master." 'Good boys' didn't get tortured.

"Oh, you poor thing!" fretted Ivan as he freed him from his restraints. "Hang on, let's get your arms all bandaged up, too. It just tears me apart inside when you do this to yourself, you know! I wish you'd just listen to me so I wouldn't have to keep hurting you like this! Honestly, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

Alfred nodded wearily. Ivan was right. He was too stubborn. Too _proud._ And for what?

"I'm sorry, master," he wheezed.

"No! No. Don't speak," hushed Ivan, peppering his face with kisses. "Your throat must hurt badly. I'll tell you what; I shouldn't do this, since you _were_ just being punished, and all, but I'm going to get you a big bowl of chocolate ice cream from the kitchen. How does that sound? Just nod or shake your head."

Again, Alfred nodded, a little more vigorously. Ivan was being very forgiving, perhaps because it was a first offense. 'Thank you, master,' he mouthed, though he still didn't speak. Everything hurt. Even the parts of him that hadn't been punished were sore from the position he'd maintained for the past hour.

"That's my good boy!" said Ivan, leaning down to press their foreheads together. "I love you!"

For the third time in a row, Alfred nodded.


	17. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohey, look, an update. Like I said in the comments before, unfortunately, work is making it basically impossible to keep to the original schedule. Like many fanfics before it, we're now on a schedule of "it gets done when it's done." Believe me, I understand how little anyone likes those kinds of schedules, but them's the breaks. :( Sorry!

Alfred gingerly scooped ice cream out of the bowl, freshly-bandaged arms shaking with every movement he made, and popped the spoon into his mouth with a relieved sigh. Ivan had allowed him to sit at the table to make the task easier, and Alfred had been sure to express his gratitude, especially as it was explained to him just how much worse things could have gotten.

"You're very fortunate that you're so cute, you know," said Ivan from across the table. "You nearly broke my heart with all that begging and pleading you did! At a couple points, I thought for sure I would break down and let you off the hook completely, but I knew I had to stay firm, for your benefit."

"Thank you, master."

"After all," continued Ivan, "one of your primary purposes may be sexual gratification, but we wouldn't want you to become some loose whore who touches himself at the slightest provocation. How could I ever take you out anywhere like that?"

Alfred shrugged halfheartedly. He just wanted to eat his ice cream.

"You know, standard procedure for that treatment we gave you often involves bruising or cutting the genitalia prior to and just after application of the salve through paddles and whips," said Ivan, which immediately caused Alfred to close his legs and squirm uncomfortably. "Oh, don't worry, Alfred. You're done. I was considering it, but you seemed so frightened already, so I just decided to increase the pain multiplier instead."

Still shivering, Alfred nodded and swallowed another spoonful of ice cream. "Th-thank you, master."

"Oh, poor thing. Look at me, prattling on about the past that you're just trying your best to forget!" sighed Ivan wistfully. "The lesson has been learned, and now we're wiping the slate clean! Oh, that reminds me. I have a couple new presents for you!"

Alfred's eyes flickered upwards as Ivan stood up to rifle through some drawers, interest piqued. He had no idea what he'd done to earn more gifts, but he wasn't going to complain.

"First of all, there's this!" said Ivan, pulling out a strip of something blue; Alfred had difficulty making out details without his vision. It looked almost like a tiny belt with a charm attached. As he approached, its purpose became more obvious. "Your collar! I didn't want to give it to you to wear until I was sure you wouldn't try to destroy it."

Alfred took the collar in his hands. A silver – actual, genuine silver, near as he could see and feel – heart-shaped dog tag hung from the front. On the back of the tag, an address was engraved, as well as a phone number.

"You know," clarified Ivan. "In case of the extremely unlikely event that your GPS stops working and you've gotten lost. Just don't let anyone see the back unnecessarily, though, okay? That's my real cellphone number, and it's going to be incredibly tedious to change it if it goes public."

Ivan was right about one thing; not long ago, he _would_ have destroyed it, either by ripping it in two or flushing it down the toilet. After what he'd been through, however, Alfred instead chose to force a smile and accept it. "Oh, uh, thanks, master."

"You're very welcome! Here, let me put it on you so we can see how it looks!" said Ivan, eagerly taking the collar back to wrap it around Alfred's neck and latch it into place. As he tightened it, he kept a finger between the leather and Alfred's neck, presumably to ensure that important activities like breathing and swallowing wouldn't be restricted by it. "There! What do you think?"

Alfred set the spoon down in the bowl of ice cream to touch his hands to his neck where the dog tag hung, generating a small, but uncomfortably unfamiliar weight around his neck that made him feel small and vulnerable. The collar was beyond dehumanizing, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to get upset about it.

"It's, uh, nice, I guess," he admitted, somewhat unwilling to lie. Ivan didn't like lies. Not without express permission.

"Oh, it's fine, you'll grow to like it. This was more a present for me than for you," giggled Ivan, heading back to the open drawer. "Unlike the others! Do you remember how you told me you didn't want to be in the dark at the gala?"

Alfred nodded, feeling relieved. He'd almost worried that Ivan would either forget or neglect to get him the promised nightlight to further punish him for his misbehavior.

"Well, I got you this!" said Ivan, pulling something fluffy and pink out. He squinted; it had two long ears and a fluffy tail. Ivan plopped it down in Alfred's lap. A stuffed rabbit? "Go on, give it a hug!"

It didn't seem like it would be particularly helpful, but Alfred did as he was told.

_Click!_

He pulled the bunny back away from his chest. On closer inspection, he noticed that its baby blue belly was made out of translucent plastic, and that pressing down on it had caused the light inside to flicker on.

"Thank you, master!" he said genuinely, feeling better about his impending solitary confinement already.

"You're very welcome!" said Ivan, retaking his seat with a smile. "I couldn't just leave my poor little Alfred all alone in the dark!"

Alfred stared into the rabbit's sky-blue eyes, just like his own. Something continued to bother him, aside from the injuries he'd accumulated from his punishment. "Why not?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" asked Alfred, still a little hoarse. Even moving his mouth hurt a little as a result of the bruise on his cheek from where Ivan had struck him. "What's the point? If you wanted, you could just keep me chained up forever and, you know, _use_ me whenever you want. You didn't have to get me ice cream, or a nightlight, or clothing, or _anything._ I don't understand."

"Because I love you, of course," said Ivan as though it were obvious. "I don't want to see you chained up like a common whore. You're my special, precious pet. Every punishment I've administered has been for your betterment, so that you could learn to conduct yourself in a way that wouldn't get you executed. Had you not committed such grievous crimes, we might not have had to go to such lengths, but unfortunately, your continued wellbeing requires your complete and utter submission."

"They aren't crimes," murmured Alfred reflexively, only to realize with horror that he's just blatantly disagreed with Ivan's entire platform. "U-umm, I mean-"

"Alfred," said Ivan calmly. "Stand up. Remove your clothes."

Alfred silently cursed his own stupidity and quickly stripped himself down until he was almost completely exposed. The only things covered were his arms and sex, both of which were thoroughly wrapped up in bandages.

"I'm s-sorry, master," he stammered as he stood, hands at his sides so that his whole body was exposed to the best of his abilities. "I, uh, I was wrong to have said that."

"Remove the bandages around your genitals, pet. The bleeding should have stopped by now."

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ He should have known better. Alfred reluctantly took the end of the bandage in hand and slowly peeled it away, hissing with pain as it pulled at the raw, reddened skin beneath. Everything burned, and every accidental brush of his fingers set his nerves on fire. The moment it was bare, he quickly pulled his hands away, lips pursed from the pain.

"Sit down on my lap and spread your legs, pet," said Ivan, and Alfred noticed that he'd pulled a tube of something out of his pocket. It was too far away. He couldn't even begin to make out the label. His lower lip trembled. Not again. "Don't keep me waiting."

Alfred sat down on Ivan's lap, facing away from him with his legs apart. Ivan spread the white cream all over his hands, and Alfred squeezed his eyes shut.

He involuntarily jerked upwards as something cold and wet touched his length. Initially, it was frigid and uncomfortable, but as Ivan began to spread it, it became… Pleasant?

"Relax, pet, it's just ointment," said Ivan, and Alfred leaned back against his chest with a relieved sigh. "But do be careful. I've already fined you once for foul language. I don't want to have to punish you again today."

"Mmhmm," responded Alfred, a shiver of pleasure running up his spine as Ivan tended to his sensitive skin. "M-master, I-"

"Easy, now. You have my permission to enjoy this," said Ivan as Alfred involuntarily arched his back. The motion prompted him to realize that, beneath Ivan's pants, he was having a good time. "Just tell me if it starts to burn. I'll add more lotion."

Alfred wouldn't have felt up to such activities in his condition even if he had been comfortable with Ivan touching him, but he knew better by then than to fight back. "What about my ice cream? It'll melt."

"I'll get you more, I promise," Ivan assured him, nipping his neck from behind. "With hot fudge, strawberries, and an entire can of whipped cream!"

Hesitant to make further demands, especially when Ivan hadn't even been required to give him the ice cream in the first place, Alfred quietly asked, "And sprinkles?"

It was childish, he knew, but he and Matthew had made a habit of regularly sharing ice cream covered in sprinkles after they'd joined the rebellion and gotten access to a steady wage.

"Better yet, I had the chefs order some space-themed sprinkles!" said Ivan. Alfred's eyes widened. Those were a thing? "With stars and planets and rocket ships!"

_You're not seriously going to let him molest you for ice cream, are you?_

Alfred took a deep breath.

_He's going to molest me either way. I may as well get something out of it._

He scooted further back into Ivan's lap and allowed his legs to be hooked to either armrest. Ivan spread more lotion onto his hands.

"H-hah…" he breathed. Even without taking his emotional discomfort into account, it was impossible for him to really enjoy it, no matter how much lotion was added. It was too sore and uncomfortable, and Ivan had to be incredibly slow and gentle just to keep it from starting to bleed again. For a few minutes, he endured, but it wasn't long before he went soft in Ivan's hands.

"Hm, disappointing, but not unexpected," said Ivan, sounding somewhat regretful. "Oh well. It just means the treatment was effective, hm? We'll have to do this after you've recovered."

Alfred tried not to look too happy. "Do I still get more ice cream?"

"Of course, love. I promised you, didn't I?" said Ivan through laughter. He nudged Alfred back off of his lap and stood up. "Hang on, let me go get you some fresh bandages. We'll have to get you a jock strap of some kind for the gala, too. Can't have you chafing your injuries back open and bleeding into your chair. There are enough weird rumors about what I'm doing to you without adding any more to the pile."

Alfred wasn't sure what to make of that, so he decided to request clarification. "Rumors?"

"Oh, don't worry so much about it," said Ivan as he retrieved a fresh roll of bandages from the drawers. Seriously, what _didn't_ he have stashed around his room? "It's my responsibility to deal with, not yours. Besides, it isn't even that big of a deal. Really, some of them are actually kind of funny."

Yeah, no. What was funny for Ivan was probably bound to be horrible for Alfred. "What kinds of rumors?"

Ivan returned to pat him on the head (with the back of his hands, thankfully, sparing Alfred of his ointment-covered palms) and start re-wrapping Alfred's flaccid penis.

"Oh, you know, just the usual," said Ivan. Alfred raised an eyebrow. What kind of rumors qualified as 'the usual' for Ivan? "That I'm doing horrible experiments on you, that I molest you, that I surgically turned you into a woman…"

Alfred resisted the urge to bury his face in his palm, unwilling to demonstrate such blatant disrespect for Ivan. Instead, he opted for a murmured comment: "Literally only one of those is false."

"Well, yes," admitted Ivan, cheeks pink. "But it's still improper to poke fun of a man's personal life behind his back. Word of advice; if anyone asks you about such things at the gala, just tell them that you aren't allowed to talk about it."

"Isn't that even more suspicious?"

"Precisely," said Ivan, straightening his back and returning to his seat. "The more suspicion we generate, the more outrageous the rumors will become. That way, if anyone finds proof of what's _really_ going on, it will seem tame by comparison."

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. There were really no words to adequately express his feelings on Ivan's words.

"Besides," added Ivan, his smile widening. "If the rumors continue to grow in absurdity, and I find the source and prove that it was them who started it, I can bring them under my control with the threat of punishment for slander."

"You're not worried about what people think?" asked Alfred.

Ivan scoffed. "Are you kidding? People already believe me to be insane, and given the possible truth of the label, it would be very difficult to show otherwise. I beat a pimp to death with a metal pipe as a child, for goodness' sake. No, it's best to just take advantage of their fear, don't you agree?"

Beat a pimp to death with a-

"Wait, what?"

"Never mind that now," said Ivan, wiping off his hands with a napkin and reaching into his pocket. "I almost forgot about that last gift I got you!"

He pulled out a pair of what appeared to be eyeglasses and handed them over to Alfred, who stared down at them with a blank expression. They looked identical to his real ones, but he knew very well that Ivan wouldn't give those back for free if they were on the GBM's catalogue. Curious, he put them on. Ordinarily, that would be the point that his vision unclouded. Instead, anything too far from his face remained as blurry as it had been without them.

"You're cuter with glasses, but you don't seem very motivated to earn back your real ones," said Ivan. "These were cheap, so I thought they would make a nice replacement for the time being."

Admittedly, it was comforting to have something over his eyes like he was used to, even if they were totally useless. Alfred nodded his head. "Thank you, master."

In truth, he was just relieved that Ivan could still find it in him to be nice. He should have known better than to take Ivan's acts of kindness for granted. Too many more missteps, and he would be strapped down on some other table to be beaten, mutilated, or both once again. But it would be okay, surely! Ivan had never hurt him without a reason before. Just about every injury he'd sustained since his capture had been the result of his own foolishness. If he just did as he was told, he wouldn't have to be tortured again. It was as simple as that.

Everything was going to be _just. Fine._

* * *

 

"Geeeeeez!" was about the only thing Gilbert could think to say in response to the bloody severed hand that had just been dropped on the table like a very small sack of potatoes. "Mattie, buddy, I get that you're a man on a mission, and all, but I'm trying to eat!"

"My brother is probably being tortured as we speak. Suck it up," said Matthew flatly. Gilbert chewed his lip and reluctantly set aside his rations to take a closer look. "In any case, that _was_ the hand of their sergeant. His prints should have security clearance for the local base, but we'll have to hurry before word gets to whoever is in charge of resetting those kinds of things. You there!" He gestured towards one of the other soldiers sitting in slack-jawed awe around the table. "Call Arthur and Francis immediately and get the go-ahead to attack! Everyone else, clean your plates! We're moving out to meet up with the other platoons as soon as we get the okay!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

As they dispersed, Gilbert stood up to place a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I'm impressed. I mean, this ain't exactly the biggest group of people, here, but you're barking off orders like an old pro! If this keeps up, you won't even have to record your speeches anymore!"

Matthew forced himself to smile. "Thanks, but I doubt it. The only reason I can do this much is concern for Al. Once he's back, I think I'm just going to go back to what I do best; tactics and speech-writing."

Gilbert slapped him on the back; despite his training, the force of the blow still prompted Matthew to jerk forward. "That's the spirit! It's about time you came to appreciate just how important your skills are! Maybe you'll be as awesome as me someday!"

"Oh, fuck off," said Matthew, giving him a playful shove in return. "If my ego was the size of you and Alfred's, the combined mass would have its own orbit."

"Yes! And with it, we'll be able to pull in all of the hotties!" said Gilbert, licking his lips. "Maybe even Roderich's wife!"

"You mean Elizabeta Héderváry, the general of the enemy army whose command comes second only to-" Matthew began before stopping himself. He knew better than to mention Marshal Ludwig in front of Gilbert. "Yeah, good luck with that. She'd take your head in a heartbeat."

"Not if we make out," said Gilbert deviously, prompting Matthew to raise an eyebrow. "What? Everyone knows that Héderváry loves a little guy-on-guy action. Rumor has it that she's even managed to convince her hubby to get frisky with other men while she watches."

"Okay, wow. I didn't really care to hear about that," said Matthew, cringing. The less he knew about Steward Roderich's love life, the better. Or, well, anyone's love life, really, especially if they were more impressive than his own.

"Oh, come on, Mattie, you know you want this," teased Gilbert, gesturing to himself. "I may not be a doctor, but Alfred is gayer than a seahorse, and you're his identical twin."

"First of all, the fact that male seahorses carry and give birth to their young has nothing to do with homosexuality," said Matthew flatly. "Second, just because I like men doesn't mean I'll take any guy with a pulse."

Gilbert shrugged. "Eh, I'm not judging. I swing both ways, myself. 'sides, I think we both know I'm more than 'some guy with a pulse!' " He gave Matthew a gentle punch to the shoulder.

Matthew sighed. "Look, Gil, I like you, and all, but I'm just really not in the mood to deal with this kind of stuff right now. When Alfred is back safe and sound, maybe, but-"

 _"General Matthew!"_ cried one of the soldiers, practically tripping over his own feet as he ran out of the tent to the center of camp with a radio in hand. "You'll never believe this! The Duke- Arbine- It's _incredible!"_

"Take a moment and get your thoughts together, soldier!" ordered Gilbert firmly. Matthew took a step back. Gilbert had been the leader of the platoon before he'd shown up, and true to form, he was much more comfortable ordering people around than he'd ever been. The soldier in question took a deep breath. "Now say it again in proper sentences!"

"The Duke of Arbine has called to negotiate the terms of his surrender!"

Silence filled the room.

"Woah," said Gilbert. "We weren't even attacking him."

"Woah," agreed Matthew.

* * *

 

Toris had been Ivan's steward for almost as long as Ivan had been living on his own. In that time, he's put up with the kind of shit that sent other advisors running for the hills. For almost as long as he could remember, the prince had been prone to violence as a means to control people. Some of it had been more understandable than others. At fifteen, a maid had attempted to force herself on him, and he'd had her uterus torn out and burned before her eyes as she lay bleeding to death on the floor. A year later, a chef was caught on film poisoning his food; his execution consisted of having acid poured down his throat via a feeding tube through his nose.

Children of royalty were born with targets on their back. Toris knew that much, and he'd tried to be understanding on each of the many, many occasions that Ivan harshly retaliated against action taken against him. As he got older, however, his distrust in others grew with him. It was irresponsible to believe that everyone had your best interests at heart, of course, but Ivan had taken things to the opposite extreme. He had little trust in a single person in his employ. His personal guards in particular were always the ones he had the most blackmail material on. Anyone who held his life in their hands did so with the understanding that one wrong move would result in not only their own death, but the death of everyone and everything they cared about.

As time passed, however, he'd grown to appreciate the carrot just as much as the stick. Raises, bonuses, gift cards, vacation time… Those who weren't close enough to fully appreciate his paranoia and control issues came to view him as firm, but ultimately fair. Those unfortunate enough to get as close as Toris, however, became acutely aware that Ivan viewed just about every nice thing he did for others as a means to an end. It didn't matter if they liked him. The only thing that mattered was that they were under control. Many would-be lovers had quickly learned the hard way that there was no life to be had at the prince's side; only beneath his thumb. Where had they been? What were they doing? Who else were they seeing? Not one relationship had lasted longer than a week, and each had ended in a solitary rage that left several rather expensive belongings in need of replacement. But he couldn't hold them against their will; no one would have stood for it.

And then, there had been _Alfred._

Alfred, who no one on Ivan's side cared about the well-being of. Alfred, whose every punishment could be excused as a just part of his rehabilitation. Alfred, whose gullibility and carefully-hidden insecurities made him putty in the hands of a skilled manipulator. Alfred, who _couldn't leave._

And Ivan could train and control him with impunity.

Perhaps it was no small wonder, then, that he'd grown so emotionally invested.

"H-he was so _scared!"_ cried Ivan, crying into an uncomfortable Toris' shoulder like a small child who'd just lost their balloon. The both of them were sitting on a sofa in Toris' room, side by side. "You should have seen him, Toris! Crying, begging… I almost couldn't even bring myself to do it, you know?"

"Then why _did_ you?" asked Toris, awkwardly rubbing his back. "You _are_ the ultimate authority, here."

"You don't understand, Toris," said Ivan, blowing his nose into a tissue. "Punishments must be applied consistently to avoid confusing him. What would he learn if I only doled them out half the time? No, I was as merciful as I could be. Originally, I was going to let him continue to believe that his nerves would be surgically stripped away for the whole trip to the hospital, but I ended up breaking down and telling him his true punishment before we even left the room. I hope being soft on him doesn't ruin his progress!"

"Soft? Really, now," sighed Toris almost inaudibly.

"What was that?"

"I was just saying that I'm sure the lesson sank in just fine," said Toris quickly.

"I don't know. I just hope I'm not spoiling him too much," murmured Ivan, pulling his feet up onto the bed to wrap his arms around his knees. "I just don't want to mess this up. Psychological conditioning is very tricky business. What if he somehow succeeds in killing himself one of these days? I don't know if I could handle that."

Toris winced. What a nasty affair that had been. Some might have been shocked by someone as seemingly resilient and self-assured as Alfred being driven to such extremes, but Toris had been entirely unsurprised. It had been saddening, of course, but entirely predictable, much like watching a bird land in a bear exhibit. He was helpless to do anything but look on in horror as the carnivore tore it to pieces.

"W-well, worst case scenario, you can always just have him put in an ordinary cell," suggested Toris. "Maybe meet a nice guy on his own terms?"

"You don't understand," sighed Ivan. "This is _love,_ Toris. _Love!_ It's not as simple as throwing him out and moving on. From the time I first laid eyes on him, I _knew_ he was the one!"

"U-umm, are you absolutely, _positively_ certain about that?" asked Toris cautiously. "I mean, far be it from me to question your feelings, but surely you can't love someone you can't even trust not to kill you when presented with the opportunity."

"What do you think I'm trying to accomplish, here?" asked Ivan, sounding disappointed. "Humans are selfish creatures. The only way to make them trustworthy is to ensure that loyalty is in their best interests. There are only two ways to accomplish this. The first, of course, is to threaten them, but this tends to breed resentment, and will inevitably lead to betrayal should the threat become void. The second solution is to ensure that they enjoy and appreciate your presence enough that they would be displeased by your absence; the idea that you wouldn't be there is a threat in and of itself."

"I suppose…" murmured Toris.

"What I want from Alfred, Toris, is true, _unwavering_ loyalty to me," said Ivan, clutching his hands together and sighing dreamily. "He will listen and obey quickly, willingly, and unquestioningly. Should I ask him to set himself on fire, all he will ask is where he can find a match. This kind of loyalty is, well, it's rare, to say the least. It can't be achieved through fear alone, as it needs to overcome all instinct of self-preservation. Nor can it be achieved through love alone, as it requires total deference to a higher authority. In order to achieve perfect subservience that can be trusted without concern for betrayal, these two methods must be carefully combined. There must be both love and fear."

"Most would call that kind of relationship abusive," said Toris.

"Most are not in situations wherein their very lives depend on their reeducation," said Ivan with a shrug. "You can deny it all you'd like, Toris, but Alfred would be dead if not for me. I'm merely taking my dues; his life for his lifetime. Is it wrong to want a little gratitude?"

Toris knew better than to argue. Were he to try and explain everything wrong with what Ivan was saying, it would only lead to a headache, as it always had in the past. "No, sir."

"Then stop trying to convince me to go easier on him."

Forcing himself to smile, Toris nodded. Hadn't Ivan been crying on his shoulder about his harsh treatment of Alfred not two minutes ago?

"It _is_ problematic, though," said Ivan.

"What's problematic?"

"The way that love has been impacting my ability to provide him with the disciplined environment he needs," said Ivan, burying his face in his knees. "I feel so relaxed around him; able to let my guard down. Lately I've spent lunches reviewing all of the battles he's won to keep myself from getting too comfortable. I think I'm close to a breakthrough, but he's a seasoned killer. I dare say he's killed more people than I've had executed, and in the heat of combat, too. Even in this weakened state of his, that experience would make a one-on-one fight… Well, it would be tricky, to say the least. I've had more than adequate combat training to fend off your average thug, but training is nothing next to experience." He blushed and closed his eyes. "I wonder what it would have been like to see him fight in person! I admit, I would rather like to see him fight for my favor in the ring this coming gala."

Toris' eyes widened. Alfred was nice enough person out of combat, from what he'd seen, but people like him had a way of _changing_ when they were in a fight. "I-I'm not sure that's a good idea, Ivan! It's like you said; most of the combatants are trained for stage combat. Alfred is trained to _kill._ Even if you order him not to, he may-"

"I'll just add to the prize fund and make everyone sign waivers," said Ivan simply. "Of course, I'd have to disqualify and punish him if he killed anyone, but oh, it would be a sight to see while it lasted…"

Toris took a deep, frustrated breath. "Prince Ivan, it's not a matter of _if_ someone dies. If you enter him in that contest, someone _is_ going to die. And knowing Alfred, being involved in the death of a civilian would _ruin_ him."

Unless…

"Are you _hoping_ he kills someone?" asked Toris.

"Of course not!" said Ivan quickly. Too quickly. "But you have to admit, it's a bit of a win-win, you know? If he wins bloodlessly, he'll have obeyed my orders and can be touted around as a success story in progress. If he kills someone, we can use it to demonstrate the brutality of the rebellion and punish him accordingly. If he loses, we can discredit his accomplishments as lies and exaggeration."

"And if he refuses to fight…?"

"Then he gets punished for refusing to follow orders," said Ivan, shrugging. "Did you really think I hadn't thought that much through?"

"Right…" said Toris.

He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

 

"So," said Francis uncomfortably.

"So? _So?"_ parroted Arthur. "So what the hell is with all these fucking _cats?"_

Somewhere beneath the mass of cats on the screen, Duke Heracles shrugged his shoulders.

"They're my advisors," he answered simply, lifting one of the cats into the air. "This is Steward Hera. Oh, and this is Marshal Athena. Unfortunately, Spymaster Aphrodite is at the vet right now, so-"

"That's enough fucking around!" snapped Arthur. "I thought we were here for your surrender!"

"Calm yourself, kitten," said Francis gently, though he wondered if a different pet name might have been preferable, given the situation. "I apologize for Arthur's behavior, Duke Heracles. It's the heat, I think."

"The heat? It is most certainly _not_ the bloody _heat!"_ snarled Arthur. As he continued to rant, Francis casually turned the camera so that his bushy-browed companion was out of view.

"So, Duke Heracles," began Francis. "What brings on this change of heart?"

"Political pressures, inadequate defenses, and certain moral disagreements," said Heracles in a tired voice. "I've recently been pressured into a contract that would put a neighboring country essentially at our mercy over a period of time, possibly even leading to their annexation in the distant future."

"And what makes you care?" growled Arthur.

"While I would like to claim that my reasons are strictly moral, and indeed many of them are, I _do_ have a more selfish reason for valuing the independence of this country," said Heracles. "Their breeding regulations are far stricter than those here. All of my cats have been imported from them for their excellent health and diverse genes. Absorption into this nation would allow them to create kitten mills and ruin the breeds for the sake of appearance."

Arthur balked disbelievingly, but Francis scratched his chin. "You _have_ always been quite the proponent for animal rights, but I'm afraid we're going to need a little more convincing before we can trust you for sure."

"Very well," said Heracles. "I shall send my heir, Zeus, as a sign of good faith."

"You, an heir?" said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. "You aren't even married!"

Heracles motioned towards a gray and white kitten with a notable gray heart on its flank. A small crown sat atop its head, held in place by a mechanism attached to its jeweled collar.

"Nope," said Arthur flatly. "I'm afraid a _cat_ isn't going to cut it."

"Very well," said Heracles. "What if I came, myself? Would that suffice?"

Francis and Arthur both exchanged glances.

"That seems a little too good to be true," admitted Francis. "Rather suspicious, actually."

"Clear the way for a jet. I will arrive with only two armed guards," said Heracles, standing up. "Stay strong in my absence, Zeus."

 _"Mrow,"_ replied the cat, licking his paw.

"I'll miss you, too."

"Hold on!" said Francis. "How will we know it's not a combat plane?"

"My private jet is adorned with jeweled pawprints," said Heracles. "I can give you a video tour before we set off so you know what to look for."

Francis turned to Arthur.

"Fine," he sighed. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

 

The tag on Alfred's collar and chain leash jingled in unison as he followed Ivan back from the gym to his room, ringing out their song of confinement and misery for all to hear. Not that the leash was connected to his fabric collar, of course. That would have been too easy for him to break out of, not that he seemed to have any intention of trying. It was only an accessory in addition to the metal one that actually secured him in place.

"You're recovering so quickly!" said Ivan, blushing as he watched Alfred's toned body stroll quietly ahead of him. "That settles it; I'm absolutely having you waxed before we go. You'll be like a model! No, a statue!"

Alfred didn't even flinch in response to his biceps being squeezed and stroked. Being touched and stroked like an animal had become par for the course. Occasionally, if he voiced his displeasure, Ivan would give his words some heed, but it was he who always had the final say in how long such 'petting' continued.

"Don't be so glum, Alfred!" said Ivan, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm. "Look, I know that we got off to a rocky start. Most of our time spent together has been rather unpleasant for you. I understand that. That's why I was thinking we should do something fun together!"

Immediately, Alfred appeared to become wary. Ivan supposed that he'd come to view 'fun' for him as being very different from 'fun' for Ivan, and that nearly broke his heart. His poor, precious pet still didn't understand that he wanted him to be happy!

"Remember when you complained about that video game, and I mentioned that we should play something together?" said Ivan. Alfred's gaze became more focused. It seemed he'd successfully acquired his undivided attention. "Guess what I just got from my pre-order!"

Alfred didn't even attempt to answer the question. How boring. Ah, well. It was good that he was learning to keep his mouth shut instead of firing off snarky comments, at least.

As they entered the room, Ivan hurried over to the console to grab a pair of controllers and flip it on. The screen flickered to life, and a title flashed across it.

_'Super Planetary Warriors 8: Dark Matters.'_

"Oh," was all he said. That was hardly the response Ivan had been hoping for. Kiku had said that he'd been anticipating the game for over a year! To think that he wouldn't even be the least bit excited. It was clear he would have to take it up a notch.

Ivan pressed the controller into Alfred's hands, and his pet reluctantly had a seat in front of the television.

"I even waited until now to start so we could play together!" said Ivan. "Come on, I know you love these games! You can be player one!"

Alfred sighed and took a seat. Ivan could hardly contain excitement. Finally, they were doing something nice together! Even in the form of a game, it would be great to see his pet in action. He quickly flipped through the menus into the campaign mode on maximum difficulty.

The two of them sat quietly through the opening narration, though Ivan could sense that something was changing in Alfred. Much as he tried to hide it, his eyes were focused, and his fingers at the ready. As the introduction drew to a close, and their characters were thrust out of their spaceship to face the enemy hordes, his tongue poked out of the side of his mouth.

It was only after the shooting began that Ivan realized he was paying more attention to Alfred's face than the game. Not that it ended up mattering, of course, because by the time he turned back to the screen, every last enemy had been wiped out.

"Impressive, even without your glasses," said Ivan.

"It's the first mission," said Alfred, as though that were the only necessary explanation.

And so it went. The first mission and the mission after that, and the mission after that. Occasionally, Ivan would manage a handful of kills, but it was less the cooperative fun he'd envisioned and more of a massacre. It didn't matter how briefly something flashed on the screen, or how quickly they were thrust into a new environment. Alfred memorized the layout and spotted every movement, blurry as they must have been. He seemed hyper-aware of his health, always popping over to the nearest medkit at the last possible moment rather than topping himself off whenever he saw one.

"Uhg, I can't get any headshots," he growled under his breath. "Everything just looks like a big fuzzy blob! I'm wasting ammo!"

"You have plenty of ammo," noted Ivan. "And there's going to be more in the next room."

"You never know that," said Alfred in a strange voice. "Not for sure. In real life, there's always-" He seemed to hesitate. "No. _Almost_ always a way to get out of a situation. To _win._ In real life, if I ran out of ammo, I could use something in the environment, or hide somewhere they wouldn't look, or even just take them on with my fists. This is a game, though. It doesn't matter how 'realistic' it is. You have to work within the system. In some ways, that makes it easier. Enemies follow predefined patterns and take a set amount of damage before dying. It exists to be beaten, and there's meant to be a solution. But it can also make a game harder when you can't do things you'd be able to do in the real world. Not being able to take a candle down a dark hallway, for example, or to take a decorative sword off the wall to use as a weapon. That means that if you screw up, you can get into unwinnable situations, like not having enough ammo. Not like… Well, maybe that's more realistic than I first thought." He laughed bitterly. "It's stupid, I know, but I really used to think that nothing in real life was actually unwinnable."

Ivan hit the pause button to wrap his arms around Alfred. "Oh, Alfred. You weren't entirely wrong. Fewer situations are unwinnable than people would like to believe. In the end, it's a matter of will, ingenuity, and resources. You could win against elite soldiers because your will and ingenuity was stronger than their will, ingenuity, and resources combined. Now, I'm not going to sell you short, Alfred; dumb as you are, in many ways, I believe your _will_ certainly surpasses my own. However, in your case, the resource gap was a little too wide for you to surmount. Not for lack of trying, of course."

Though he obviously would have preferred to have Alfred hug him back, Ivan chose to take satisfaction out of simply being able to touch him unchallenged. It was almost a little sad to see his beautiful lion near-broken by his experiences, but he had to keep reassuring himself that it was all for the best. One couldn't just ride an unbroken horse into a race. His will had to be broken before Ivan could repurpose the pieces into an extension of his own. After that, the rest would come naturally.

Ivan's grip on Alfred tightened. Empathy was such an irritating part of the human experience, and one that, much as he tried to deny it, he still experienced now and again for the handful of people he still cared about. For the longest time, the only room in his heart had been for his family (and even then, Natalya sometimes pushed the limits of his tolerance). People were such ugly creatures, but at least the bonds of blood seemed to ensure some semblance of trustworthiness. Sure, his father would have killed him if he absolutely _had_ to, but it was a biological imperative to want to see your offspring succeed; so long as he didn't make it a point to act directly against his interests, he had little to fear from him. Yekaterina was too soft to raise a hand against her brother outside of absolute necessity. Natalya was arguably the biggest threat to him, not because of her hatred, but because of her obsession. Ivan knew he had to keep his pet a safe distance away from her; were she not royalty, she might have come to be a soldier as fierce on the battlefield as Alfred himself.

He sighed happily. Three people in the whole entire world that he could trust, and on Natalya's bad days, not even that. The thought that Alfred might eventually join those ranks was an exciting one. Family was nice, and all, but at Ivan's age, a person began to desire something a little more out of life. Someone he could get a little closer to, and maybe even start a family with someday. Oh, sure, Alfred would be eternally subservient to him, but he had some quality genes. All it would take was to have some of the folk at the lab extract all of the good ones to join with Ivan's, and he would have an excellent heir with the best attributes of both of them. A bastard child, perhaps, but so long as Ivan didn't produce any other children, he or she would still have claim to the duchy; Yekaterina's children would doubtlessly be raised in such a way that they wouldn't try to stake a claim of their own, and Natalya was unlikely to produce an heir if she couldn't have Ivan.

Oh, but he was getting ahead of himself! Alfred was still a work in progress. It was just so easy to get excited when it was the first time he'd gotten so far with a person. Anyone he'd ever tried to mold to fit his needs had left him within days; apparently, being with a prince wasn't enough of a motivator to stick around and deal with his needs. It wasn't his fault that just about everyone else was content to live with a person whose continued loyalty could never be guaranteed. They didn't seem to mind risking humanity's fickle, traitorous nature, nor did it bother them that the person sleeping beside them could one day slit their throat in their sleep. Rare though it was, it still happened, and Ivan hadn't lived as long as he had by taking risks.

Unfortunately, despite knowing all that, he couldn't quite quell his optimistic streak. Losing all of those partners wouldn't have hurt so much if he hadn't genuinely gotten invested in each of them, short as their time together might have been. In truth, Ivan supposed his tendency to obsess over a person wasn't much different from Natalya's; the only real difference was that his affections were capable of eventually moving on to a new person upon being rebuffed. Well, usually. He'd never been able to maintain a single target for as long as Alfred. It was becoming more and more difficult to say whether or not he'd be able to handle somehow losing him after so long.

Again, he tightened his grip on Alfred, until his pet began to squirm uncomfortably.

"Iv- S-sorry, I mean, master? D-did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, am I hurting you?" asked Ivan, forcing himself to relax. "My apologies. You're just so cute when you get all self-reflective! I just couldn't help myself. Don't worry, I'll get you some chocolates later to make up for it." He kissed Alfred on the forehead. "Are you okay? Do you want to keep playing?"

It would be okay, he assured himself. Alfred wasn't going anywhere. Alfred _couldn't_ go anywhere. Alfred would be _his,_ forever and ever and ever and _ever!_

But first, he had to be broken.

Ivan frowned. They weren't kidding when they said love hurt!  
"I, umm, I'm okay," said Alfred, clearly trying to convince himself of that more so than Ivan. "I'm okay. I'm okay…"

"I love you," said Ivan.

"Yeah," said Alfred, clearly straining not to cry again. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter isn't as content-heavy as I would have liked, but the next chapter should be jam-packed with all sorts of fun (or not so fun, depending on your point of view) stuff. I'm gonna do my best to put together an actual freaking outline and get an estimate of remaining chapters in the near-ish future, mostly because it kind of bothers me that we're over a novel's worth of words in, and I still don't know exactly how far we are from the ending. Again, I'm writing by the seat of my pants, and even now, there are a lot of bits I wish I could do over. I've gotten quite a bit of perfectly valid criticism regarding the progression of the plot and the characterization, and I want to let you guys know that I deeply appreciate all of it. It's a little late to fix a lot of those issues, but it's definitely something to keep in mind for future projects!
> 
> With that said, if your main beef is the direction of the plot itself, I certainly respect your opinion, and you have every right to it, but (and I don't think this really counts as a spoiler at this point) you maaaaaay want to look for other fanfics if you're seeking the development of a healthy relationship.


	18. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant for this to be released by Christmas, but then my computer was all, "Oh, you're in the middle of writing something and haven't saved in a while? This looks like a great time to do an update!" And then the restored version literally didn't even have anything from after I'd saved, making it totally pointless. But enough whining about my poor life choices; here's the new chapter. Woo!

"Well, this is it!" said Ivan. "The big day! Are you ready, Alfred? Oh, this is so exciting!"

Alfred couldn't force himself to look even remotely excited as he stood at the door decked out in his muzzle, straitjacket, and chains. There was absolutely nothing to look forward to, as far as he was concerned. Ivan was going to publicly humiliate him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it except try to preserve-

Actually, strike that. He had no dignity left. There was nothing to preserve. Any attempt to do so would just get him punished for the umpteenth time, and he would be left in horrible agony regretting all of the terrible life choices that had brought him to that point. No, Alfred decided, he would not be doing his best to preserve _anything,_ because he had _nothing more to lose._ The rebellion had already written him off, if the speech Ivan had shown him had been any indication. Maybe if he just didn't put up any kind of a fight whatsoever, it would allow him to fade out of the humiliating spotlight and back into obscurity.

 _Like anyone could forget a cold-hearted killer like you,_ said the voice in his head.

 _Like it even matters anymore,_ argued Alfred right back. He was done. His involvement was over. They'd abandoned him to his rightful fate, and he didn't care.

He didn't _want_ to care.

"Chin up, Alfred! This marks your first public appearance since you got here!" said Ivan as he stripped down to change clothes. "The whole event is televised. You wouldn't want all your adoring fans to see you so down, would you?"

"Adoring fans?" asked Alfred in a tired voice. "I thought I didn't have any."

"Well, you have one," said Ivan, pinching his cheek. "I don't think I need to say who that is!"

"Matthew?" Alfred asked, a tiny surge of hope welling up in his chest.

"Okay, obviously I _do_ need to say it. It's _me,_ silly!" said Ivan, ruffling his hair. "Don't worry, it'll be fun! There's going to be food, drinks, music, and you'll even get to fight in a big tournament!"

Alfred nearly choked on his own saliva. _"What?"_

"Oh, right, probably should have mentioned that to you earlier," said Ivan, retrieving his formal clothes from the closet. "I got the go-ahead from my father! I can't wait to see you fight for my favor! It's so _romantic,_ don't you think?"

"Fight?" said Alfred. "I don't want to fight in a tournament!"

"And why ever not?" asked Ivan. "You'd do marvelously, I imagine. Those pathetic fools wouldn't stand a _chance_ against you." He set the new clothes aside to rub his hand up and down Alfred's covered bicep. "You're practically back in your prime already!"

Alfred did his best not to look too happy about that remark. "You really think so?" Wait, no, that wasn't the point! "But fighting in a tournament?"

"I'm not sure I understand your objection," said Ivan. "You like fighting, don't you?"

Alfred froze. _Did_ he like fighting? It was true that the heat of battle got his adrenaline pumping, and there was a certain sense of satisfaction- no, no, _relief_ when a 'problem' was 'dealt with,' but he didn't actually _enjoy_ it, right? Even if he didn't feel as bad about it as he perhaps ought to have, he didn't _like_ hurting others! He didn't take any _joy_ out of combat.

Did he?

"Besides," Ivan went on as he dressed himself. "It's just show fighting. You get a wooden weapon, bash each other around a little bit, and the first to fold or be left unable to continue loses. You don't have to kill anyone. It's just for fun!"

Alfred directed his gaze towards the floor. He didn't have to kill anyone. Did that make it okay to enjoy it? _Would_ he enjoy it? It was difficult to deny that the idea of being able to physically vent some of his frustration with his situation in a way Ivan actually approved of was somewhat tempting. If no one died, it was okay to enjoy a fight, right? People did that all the time.

"Wouldn't it look bad for you, though?" asked Alfred, a little wary. "You know, if I beat everyone?"

Alfred had expected to be told something along the lines of, 'That's precisely why you'll be throwing the fight.' Instead, Ivan's eyes practically lit up with adoration.

"Oh, Alfred, that's what I love about you," he sighed happily.

"Wait, what?"

"Your confidence, pet, even now!" said Ivan. "At no point upon hearing about this did you ever even begin to conceive that you might actually lose!"

Alfred frowned. That was true, but… Oh, how did he word it in a way that wouldn't anger Ivan? "I, umm, well, they're just show fighters. Master," he added quickly.

"You'll be out of your element," noted Ivan, hooking the leash to Alfred's neck. "You're a fantastic aim, or so I'm told, but these are wooden poles, and you're used to going for a kill. How good are you at holding yourself back, I wonder? It would certainly look bad for the rebellion if you were to lose control and murder a non-combatant."

Immediately, Alfred began to understand just how precarious of a situation he had been placed in. Written off or not, he was still associated with the rebellion to the point that killing a random person would reflect badly on them.

 _It would also be wrong to murder a civilian,_ his mind added, and he cursed himself for not thinking about that first.

In any case, Ivan made a damn good point. Alfred had done plenty of practice fights, but most of those had been in a proper training arena with fake laser guns and armor that would buzz and deactivate your weapon if you got hit and 'killed.' It was that or the shooting range, which was full of targets both moving and immobile. Even when he practiced getting up close and personal, his fists or weapons would be heavily padded. He hadn't been in a non-lethal fight using any kind of a solid weapon since his early teens.

 _Could_ he hold himself back?

He'd seen the kinds of effects war had on people first-hand. Perfectly normal men and women became prone to random fits of panic and violence. But him? He'd never experienced anything of the sort. For all his worrying about the safety of those close to him, he'd never been left quite as _traumatized_ as, well, all of the _normal_ people. Indeed, the more he thought about it, killing and coming close to being killed left an impact on just about everybody.

Everybody except for him.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

"I can restrain myself," he said quietly, because he was no longer certain of just how good a thing that was. What did it say about his character that killing people hadn't fucked him up like it fucked up the others? What did it say about his _humanity_ that, even knowing that, he couldn't bring himself to feel truly remorseful? His mind kept justifying it as necessary self-defense, but why couldn't everyone else just do the same? Why was there such a massive difference between the way he felt and how everyone else felt? How could he be so cold and unfeeling? "Are you going to make me throw the fight?"

"Now, what fun would _that_ be?" said Ivan as the doors were opened. "I went out of my way to have the prize pot sweetened for you. As your owner, I get all of it if you win. Besides, all of the contestants who entered despite your presence did so because they wanted to fight you when you were giving it your all."

"Oh," said Alfred, supposing that was explanation enough. Of course Ivan was getting something out of it. Ivan always made sure he was getting something out of everything. He probably knew exactly what he was doing, unlike Alfred, who was only really any good at following the orders of smarter people. "So it's fine if I win?"

"It's fine either way, so long as you do your best!" said Ivan. "Such a sweetheart, making sure you have my okay! Good boy!"

 _Click!_ It was getting to the point that the sound alone triggered a satisfied reaction. Alfred walked obediently ahead of Ivan and his guards, displeased by how fervently he was beginning to seek each dose. He couldn't help it; at a time when he almost always felt like garbage, Ivan made him feel good about himself again, if only for a fleeting moment.

"Down the stairs. We have to take a quick shuttle trip over to the jet," said Ivan, so Alfred went down the stairs without objecting.

As the approached a large door, he began to falter.

"What's the matter, Alfred?" asked Ivan.

"H-huh? Oh, nothing," said Alfred quickly. "It's, uh, it's just been a while since I've been outside."

"It has, indeed!" agreed Ivan. "You're long overdue for some sun! Look at how pale you've gotten! You're almost as light as me now!" He laughed. "I promise it won't end up like the last time. As long as you're obedient, you're perfectly safe from punishment."

Alfred took a deep breath and nodded.

_As long as I'm obedient, everything will be fine._

The guards pushed open the door, and they stepped out into the cobblestone road that looped around that section of the sunflower-filled courtyard. Before, Alfred had expected it to be something of a relief. Instead, he found himself frozen.

A shiny black car sat out in front of them, the back door opened invitingly. Ivan nudged his back impatiently.

"Into the car, Alfred. Come on."

It was right there, and yet the world before it was just so _open._ What if he couldn't resist making a break for it? He would surely be caught, and then, and _then,_ he would be sent back into that horrible box where it was cold and dark and _unbearable…_ It was totally nonsensical to worry about that, he knew, but an irrational fear was still a fear.

"I can't," whispered Alfred.

Ivan sighed and tightened his grip on the leash, causing Alfred to feel a pressure on his neck. "You feel this? The chains holding you in place? As long as you're properly secured, everything will be fine."

Alfred nodded.

_It's okay. I can't get away. As long as I'm on my leash, I'm okay. It'll be okay._

He took a step forward.

_It's okay. It's okay. It's okay it's okay it's okay-_

He took a step back.

"Master," he said softly. "Would you please hold me?"

"If it makes you feel better," said Ivan, quick to do as he was asked. Alfred could feel his heartbeat steady as Ivan's hand firmly gripped his shoulder.

"Thank you," said Alfred gratefully, because Ivan didn't _have_ to comfort him if he didn't want to, especially not over something as absurd as walking outside.

As soon as he was buckled into a leather seat, he found himself trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone as he looked around the vehicle. Rather than face forward, the seats were along the sides and facing each other, much like a bus. Ivan sat beside him, and across from them were armed guards. In a better situation, Alfred would have been more curious about his surroundings, but he had a much more pressing question.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" said Ivan.

"Why are you taking me with you?"

"Surely you jest," said Ivan, giggling. "Didn't I tell you before? After all the time and effort I've put into you, I just _have_ to show you off. You're my trophy, remember?"

"I'm pathetic," said Alfred.

"Well, of course you're pathetic," said Ivan. "A half-finished sculpture is bound to be ugly. Once I've finished shaping you, though…" He blushed and fidgeted in his seat. "Oh, you'll be just _perfect!"_

"I'm stupid," said Alfred.

"Well, yes," said Ivan. "What of it?"

"You still lo- you still _want_ me," said Alfred, frustrated and trying his best not to cry again. It seemed like he was crying all the time, lately. "I'm worthless. Worthless to my friends, and worthless to the rebellion. That makes me worthless to you, too, doesn't it?"

"Oh, Alfred," said Ivan, shaking his head. "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. When did I ever say you were worthless?"

"But I-"

"You were _never_ worthless," said Ivan, stroking his hair. Alfred couldn't help but lean into his embrace; Ivan was the only source of affection he had. "What makes you think that?"

"You just said I was stupid and pathetic!"

"That hardly makes you worthless," said Ivan. "On the contrary, you're pathetic because you're a work in progress. Your stupidity is not quite so temporary, but it doesn't depreciate your value. I know that chess metaphors are a little cliché, but bear with me for a moment. You see, chess pieces don't have brains of their own, but the player couldn't hope to win without them. Even the lowliest pawn is a vital part of the grand strategy. Oh, but _you,_ Alfred, are no pawn." He pulled him in close. "You were the opposing team's _queen._ Your head might be empty, but you were by far the most powerful piece in their arsenal."

"And then I got captured," said Alfred hollowly.

"Ah, yes, but you can't blame yourself," said Ivan. "It wasn't your fault."

That was certainly news to Alfred. "It wasn't?"

"You're stupid, remember?" said Ivan, and Alfred deflated. How was that supposed to make him feel better? "Stupid like a chess piece. You don't blame the piece for getting captured, you blame the player. They knew how important you were, and they still let you go off on your own." The feeling of his hand petting Alfred's hair was growing to be more soothing than annoying. "They misplayed you."

No. That was too good to be true. It had to be his fault. Ivan was just trying to be nice. But why? "Then why all this? Why bother with all of this training?"

"You really _are_ stupid. We just went over this the other day!" said Ivan. "I love you."

"But _why_ do you love me?" insisted Alfred. "Why not someone smarter?"

"Several reasons," said Ivan. "Stupid people are much better-suited to being controlled. Someone smarter would be wasted in your position. Besides, once you learn to accept my will as your own, it won't even matter, because all of the meaningful decisions in your life won't even be yours. Isn't that a reassuring thought?"

"Reassuring?" repeated Alfred hollowly. "How is that supposed to be reassuring? That sounds horrible!"

"Think about it, Alfred. I know that's hard for you, but it's really not as complicated as you're making it out to be," said Ivan. "If none of those important decisions are your own, that means nothing will ever be your fault. You will have no responsibilities except to adhere to the commands you've been given. It's a much easier life, wouldn't you agree?"

Alfred shook his head. "But it would still be miserable!"

"Everyone says that at first," says Ivan. "It seems counter-intuitive, but throughout history, dumb people have always sought to be controlled by their betters. The foolish masses are more than happy to subject themselves and others to the rules of a higher power, be that government or religion, and for what? It's simple, Alfred; _stress._ Every decision you make is a source of it, no matter how small, and it goes without saying that to increase freedom is to increase stress. Imagine if there were no rules, and the world was in anarchy! You would have total freedom to do whatever you pleased, but so could everyone else! Can you imagine how stressful that would be for all involved? No one wants that; we're naturally inclined to appoint leaders and strip ourselves of rights in order to give ourselves one less thing to worry about."

"But that's just to make sure that everyone else isn't doing those same things!" said Alfred. "People don't restrict themselves while some other person is still free to make those decisions!"

"Oh, don't they?" said Ivan. "What about employees who remain in someone else's business instead of forming their own? They give up all sorts of things in order to avoid having to make the same complicated decisions as the owner; wearing what they want, working when they want, saying what they want, and so on and so forth. If they really wanted to make those decisions, they could, but it's far too stressful. It's easier to adhere to the rules of those few who were willing to take those stresses on."

"But-" began Alfred, only to think better of it. Ivan was far smarter than he was. There was no point in arguing when he was too stupid to defend his beliefs. All he would accomplish was humiliating himself. "Never mind."

"Good pet. Don't worry, we've almost made it to the plane," said Ivan. "I even had a special little travel pen installed! It's a bit smaller than your kennel, but you'll be nice and comfortable for the trip. Don't worry, the capital isn't even an hour away by plane."

Sure enough, it wasn't long before the vehicle stopped in front of an open expanse of smooth track just outside a hangar. Alfred spent the short walk from the car to the jet pressed against Ivan, unwilling to inconvenience him by asking to be held again. Mercifully, Ivan didn't appear to mind.

It was a very nice jet, to be sure; unlike a commercial airliner, which would have been narrow and packed with uncomfortable seats, there were comfortable sofas, a table, a bar, and even a fridge. Up some stairs was a glass-walled loft, half of which was styled like a small (well, small for royalty, anyway), but comfortable bedroom, and the other half of which was barred off much like Alfred's kennel. Sure enough, Ivan ushered him behind the bars and locked the door securely behind him.

Ivan hadn't been kidding when he said it was smaller than Alfred's kennel; the human-sized dog bed on the floor took up about a third of the available space, leaving only a little bit of room to stretch his legs. Still, he supposed it wasn't all bad; he was right up against a window to the outside, and it was much more sizable than the average commuter airline seat (not that he'd ever been on one; it was always some military jet or another), so he couldn't find a reason to complain. Alfred had always enjoyed the view of the world from an airplane. If he got tired of that, the television was within view.

"What if I have to use the bathroom?" asked Alfred. Even if there were a toilet, he couldn't use his hands.

"Just notify me, and I'll take you to it," said Ivan, settling down and pulling out his laptop. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the television. "Let's see, what station can we put on for you? Oh, how about Animal World?"

Footage of a tiger came up on screen.

_"-marks his territory by leaving his scent on the local vegetation. Should another predator come across this, they would be wise to avoid the area in favor of less challenged pastures."_

Alfred rolled his eyes. Of _course_ it would be _that_ kind of a show.

The footage cut to a different tiger.

_"But not all are quite so cautious. This brave juvenile ventures dauntlessly into the territory of its elder for a taste of the bountiful prey within. If he's lucky, he'll be in and out without being noticed."_

It cut to a baby deer.

 _"A young spotted deer has wandered too far from her herd,"_ said the narrator as the baby deer strayed just a little too far from its mother. _"Her mother grazes on, unaware of the impending danger."_

"Oh my. Do you want to change the channel?" asked Ivan. "I understand this type of content may be uncomfortable for some people."

"Uncomfortable?" repeated Alfred, who hadn't been uncomfortable at all. Wait, was discomfort _normal_ during such moments? "B-but it's a deer, not a human! The tiger just wants to eat! It's the circle of life! Why would anyone be uncomfortable? It's not! That's stupid! If you eat meat, this shouldn't bother you!"

"No need to get so defensive, pet," said Ivan. Alfred's cheeks went red. "I just wanted to be sure you were okay with this. Calm yourself."

"I'm not defensive!" insisted Alfred. "I'm just stating facts!"

Ivan raised an eyebrow, and Alfred flopped down in his travel bed. Who was he kidding? He was being defensive as all hell.

"I think I'm just gonna take a nap," he muttered as the tiger clamped its jaws down on the baby deer's throat.

"Suit yourself," said Ivan. "Let me know if you want to change it to something."

For a moment, Alfred was hopeful. "The news?" Maybe he'd see something of Matthew!

Ivan laughed and shook his head, deflating his spirits.

"What reason do you have to care for current events?" said Ivan. "The news only ever reports dreary things for ratings; it would just depress and worry you. No, the only thing that you need to concern yourself with is how best to please your master."

"Oh," said Alfred, staring out the window as the plane began to roll forward. All the while, the narrator droned on.

_"The elder tiger challenges the younger for its stolen prey. Their battle is brutal and bloody. Though the younger is filled with vitality, it is no match for a seasoned veteran."_

"Don't be so miserable. You'll have fun at the gala, I'm sure of it!" said Ivan. "Remember, I'm only doing this for your own good."

_"In these stressful times of limited prey, the older tiger is unwilling to forgive or compromise. It brutally lashes out in a vengeful rage."_

"I know," said Alfred.

_"The veteran tiger stands over the bloodied form of his fallen opponent, whose throat has been torn out in combat. He watches for a moment or two in silent contemplation as it bleeds out, then turns around to feast on the baby deer."_

"I know."

* * *

 

The first thing Alfred noticed as he was nudged down the steps out of the jet was that he was surrounded by uniformed guards. Initially, he thought for sure that they were there for him; it wasn't long before he realized he was right, but for the wrong reasons. Though many couldn't resist briefly looking over their shoulder to take a peek at him, they were facing outwards, towards the masses of people who'd been waiting for him.

 _"Free Jones!"_ shouted some of them, only to be dragged off kicking and screaming.

 _"Punish the traitor!"_ shouted others, who were treated much more amicably.

At first, Alfred was hesitant to go outside, but somehow, the guards surrounding him managed to be reassuring. They acted like walls, caging him in. There would be no temptation to run. He just had to keep on walking at the pace Ivan set for him.

The second thing that he noticed was the camera. As soon as his feet were on solid pavement, it was practically shoved into his face. He couldn't bear to look into the lens. The thought of anyone else seeing how pathetic he was hurt too much.

"A little distance, please," said Ivan to the camerawoman who Alfred recognized as Sisia Zwingli from TNN; it was the only news group welcomed on both sides of the conflict, though they'd never been permitted to get close enough to properly interview him as they'd wished in the past. He regretted not fighting Arthur a little harder to let them in; at least then they would have known what he'd been like before Ivan had gotten him. "He's stressed enough as it is."

"My Prince," said the accompanying reporter, Basch. It was strange to see them both on the scene; usually it was one or the other. "My sister and I are both incredibly grateful to have been permitted to record this season's gala. As rude as it is to make a request when you've already been more than kind to us, we humbly ask for an interview with Alfred Jones, strictly in the interest of the facts. You would, of course, be permitted to review the questions and the film at your leisure."

Alfred gritted his teeth. Surely Ivan wouldn't put him through that. He couldn't possibly do an interview in such a sorry state.

"I will consider your request," said Ivan. "For now, you would do well to film from a little further away. You can see plenty of Alfred without pressing the camera against his face."

"S-sorry!" stammered Sisia, backing off. Basch quickly took the camera from her and backed away to a safer distance.

"Of course, Prince Ivan," said Basch, much to Alfred's relief. Not that it mattered much, of course, because they were still focused on him.

"Is this live?" Alfred murmured.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course not," said Ivan. "There's a delay of a few minutes or so, just in case you decide to do something defiant that might make me look bad. That gives us plenty of time to cut away."

Alfred hadn't had any intention of defying Ivan to begin with, and that knowledge certainly didn't make the prospect any more tempting. "Oh."

"Remember, pet, I expect you to be on your _best_ behavior," said Ivan as they moved forward towards another vehicle. "Do _not_ embarrass me."

Alfred shivered. "Of course not, sir."

The car ride was agonizingly short, or at least it felt that way. As the massive castle of the capital came into view, Alfred couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he was being dragged against his will into a perimeter he had spent battle after battle seeking to ultimately breech. He'd never seen it in person before, and, much as he hated to admit it, it was positively breathtaking. The flowers of the courtyard were all various shades of white and pale blue, as though it were covered in perpetual frost. The bricks that made up the building itself were also as icy white as the snow, and decorative spikes hung down from the roof like icicles.

As they entered through the massive silver gate, Alfred looked up to take note of the dozens of white-uniformed soldiers with their attention firmly on him. It was impossible not to wonder how many of them were the friends and family of people whose lives he'd brutally ended.

"We're going to have to go up the stairs around the back to make our grand entrance down the stairs of the ballroom," said Ivan, who proceeded to verbally guide him to the steps. "Ah, it's good to be- well, it's not 'home' anymore, but, you know, back where I grew up." Ivan frowned. "Hm. I suppose you wouldn't understand that feeling, having grown up in an impoverished orphanage, and all."

"No," said Alfred with a resigned sigh. "I don't."

"Well, it's no matter," said Ivan. "Your home is by your master's side! Now remember, walk ahead of me and slightly to the right!"

"Yes, master."

Alfred took a deep breath as they approached the massive doors. Guards continued to swarm them, though at least Basch and Sisia had left, presumably to get footage from within the ball room.

A pair of uniformed servants pulled the doors open to reveal an indoor balcony from which descended a grand stairway. Within seconds, the sound of roaring chatter vanished, leaving an uneasy silence during which time one could have heard a pin drop.

"Prince Ivan, Duke of Wyv!" announced a reluctant-looking man with a tablet.

Alfred reluctantly shuffled forward and descended down the steps with Ivan right behind him. He'd always adored the spotlight, addicted to attention as he was, but right then, he just wanted to crawl into a pit and die. The camera was, once again, trained in on his face, and every pair of eyes in the room were focused on him. Initially, he couldn't quite make out the whispers, but as they drew closer to the crowd, the words became more audible, even as people took care to maintain several feet of distance.

"Is that him?" said one.

"I can't believe they brought him here! What about the children?" said another. The fact that people honestly believed him capable of harming a kid would have depressed Alfred even further, were he not already at rock bottom.

As they reached the end of the stairs, Alfred tried to drown out their words by focusing on other sounds. Fancy music was being played by a handful of musicians on a stage off to one side of the ballroom. His heels clicked against the shiny tiles of the floor, accompanied by the jingle of chains binding his ankles together.

"Prince Ivan," addressed a familiar voice from the right. Alfred's blood froze; he knew that voice all too well. "It's so good to see you again!"

"Princess Yekaterina," addressed Ivan with a smile and a small bow. "It's good to see you, too!"

Alfred's lips curled uncomfortably inwards as he took in the sight of Ivan's older sister. He'd seen enough footage of her to know exactly who she was, even if she almost never deigned to show herself on camera. There was something about seeing her in person after so long being after her head that just felt almost unreal.

There was a cold, unpleasant tingling sensation that ran down the back of his neck as Ivan shot him a cold, expectant sideward glance. With a deep breath, Alfred swallowed the microscopic fragments of his pride and dipped his torso downwards into a deep, practically ninety degree angle bow, just as he'd been taught.

"Oh, and this must be Alfred," said Yekaterina, nodding in his direction. "My brother has told me so much about you! How are you faring under his tutelage?"

If Alfred had been drinking something, that would have been the moment for a dramatic spit-take. Alas, he could only gape, at least as much as the mask allowed.

_Is she being serious right now?_

"Alfred, answer the question," said Ivan sternly.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He hadn't been expected to be put on the spot so early on. Never before had Alfred been at such a complete and utter loss about how to properly to respond to something so seemingly inane, but the pressure was simply unimaginable. Between the camera, the hundreds of nobles, and – most importantly – Ivan himself, he was already beginning to feel somewhat feint. Even the tiniest slip-up could lead him back to another stay in the box if Ivan believed it to be intentional. How was he supposed to answer something like that? What would Ivan want him to say?

"Fine," he murmured at last. Fine. _Fine._ Like she had asked him about his fucking day. At Ivan's icy glare, he quickly added a stammered, "Th-thanks for asking, m-my- y-your-"

"Oh, well, that's good," continued Yekaterina with a warm, almost oblivious-looking smile. "Prince Ivan has told me much about his positive reinforcement initiative. I'm pleased to see that it's working out!"

Alfred's cheeks flushed with humiliation. Working out, indeed. Not long ago, he would have had the nerve to tackle her to the ground and strangle her with the chains binding his ankles. Oh, Ivan would have shut him down, but he would have _tried._ The old Alfred would never-

No. No no no no no. The more he thought about the old Alfred, the more likely it was that he did something stupid. Alfred chomped down on his tongue and stood with his head dipped submissively downwards while Ivan and his sister conversed, but he couldn't close his ears to the surrounding chatter.

"Is that really him? _The_ Alfred Jones?"

"It sure looks like him."

"That's him. That's the man who murdered my nephew. Bashed his skull in like an egg."

"How barbaric! I'm so sorry to hear that…"

 _Barbaric? He's dead either way,_ thought Alfred desperately. _What difference does the method make?_

"He's really not so scary, once you get to know him," said Ivan, his voice full of adoration. "Isn't that right, pet?"

"Yes, master," said Alfred reflexively, praying that the microphone didn't pick up on his words.

"You'll do exactly what you're told, won't you?" said Ivan.

"Yes, master."

"Excellent," said Ivan. "Now sit."

Alfred glanced around. There was nowhere to sit but the floor. "…Sit?"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

The dangerous edge to his voice was enough to make Alfred's tremble.

"Yes, master!" he said quickly, dropping so fast that he lost his balance and, unable to save himself with his bound hands, landed with a painful _thud_ on his behind.

The ballroom erupted into laughter. Initially, Alfred swiveled his head around in some vain hope that it had been caused by something else, but no. His lower lip trembled behind his mask, and he pulled his knees in against his chest. It was him they were laughing and pointing at. And who could blame them, after such a pathetic display?

"Oh, how dreadful! Are you okay?" asked Princess Yekaterina, her voice barely audible behind the uproar.

"There, there," said Ivan, patting him on the head. "You may get up now, Alfred."

Alfred couldn't bring himself to budge. It was taking everything he had not to burst into tears. He couldn't cry. Not there. Ivan had taken away everything. His life, his confidence, his dignity… He couldn't make him bawl on television, too.

"Alfred," said Ivan firmly. "Up."

He had no choice.

"Yes, master," said Alfred weakly, rocking himself back and then forward again to get back onto his feet in spite of his bond arms. He wanted nothing more than to be sucked up into the floor where no one could witness his shame, but that was just wishful thinking.

"Good boy," said Ivan.

 _Click!_ Alfred took a deep breath as his humiliation melted away into bliss. That was right. He was a good boy. Bad things didn't happen to good boys. He would be okay as long as he behaved. Ivan wouldn't hurt him.

Ivan loved him.

"Thank you, master," he said without really thinking about what he was even thanking him for.

"You're very welcome, pet."

"Are you okay?" asked Yekaterina, looking genuinely concerned. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"O-oh," stammered Alfred, because he hadn't expected to have to answer another question. "Yeah. Th-thanks." He was trembling too much to speak normally.

"Oh, good," said Yekaterina, relieved. Alfred bristled uncomfortably. Was she actually- "Prince Ivan, that was a little cold, don't you think?"

Once more, Alfred found himself struggling not to cry. It felt like it had been an _eternity_ since someone last demonstrated some kind of actual concern for his well-being. Sure, Ivan got worried sometimes, but it was usually in response to pain that he, himself had inflicted in the first place. But of all the people to finally, _finally_ ask him how he felt without the threat of brutal punishment behind their every word, it had to be _her?_ Princess Yekaterina, heir to the throne? The woman he'd dedicated himself to killing?

It couldn't be. His target couldn't possibly be kinder and more empathetic than he was. If that was the case…

If that was the case, wasn't he-

"Don't fret, he's perfectly fine," said Ivan, patting Alfred's head. Unconsciously, Alfred dipped his chin and leaned in closer. Such gentle treatment meant that Ivan was happy with him, allowing him at least a brief little moment of comfort. It wasn't until Alfred noticed the stunned looks on the surrounding onlooker's faces that he remembered just how bizarre such a display probably looked. No one else was fully aware of what he'd been through; to them, he'd gone into Ivan's custody a violent monster and come out a pathetic wreck responsive to even the most condescending forms of affection. "Aren't you, Alfred?"

"Yes, master. Thank you," said Alfred.

_Click!_

Alfred couldn't hold back a blissful sigh; at long last, the shaking in his legs died down. So far, so good. All he had to do was exactly what he was told, and everything would be fine. Ivan never hurt him without a reason. If he could just refrain from doing anything stupid, he was safe. Maybe he would even get a reward. Ivan liked to reward him for doing well.

 _This is wrong,_ whispered a small, dying part of his mind.

 _I don't care,_ said the rest. _I don't want to suffer for nothing anymore._

 _They're your enemies,_ it reminded him.

 _And I'm their enemy,_ he argued back.

"Well, in any case, it's good to see that his education is going smoothly!" said Yekaterina with a nod. "Alfred, you seem like a very nice young man. It's such a shame that you ended up getting mixed up in all of this. Rest assured that when everything is settled, I will do everything in my power to ensure that such tragedy never again befalls this nation."

She seemed so sure of her convictions. There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty or exaggeration; either she was the world's greatest actress, or she genuinely believed every word she said. Could it be, though? Was she really a good person? And if so, and the rebellion were to kill her, wouldn't they be…

_Wouldn't that make us the bad guys?_

No. No, it didn't make sense! Ivan was bad! The nation itself had done bad things! And his friends were all good people! Good people didn't kill other good people!

"Oh dear! Are you okay? You're shaking again!" fretted Yekaterina.

"He'll be fine," Ivan assured her. "I think you just shocked him a little, that's all. The poor thing has been brainwashed into believing that you're some kind of heartless monster."

Alfred stared blankly into the ground. Brainwashed? Surely not. Arthur and Francis were good people. And, and, and even if he was stupid, Matthew was smart, and _he_ had trusted them! They were right and good, and Ivan's side was wrong and bad. That was how it worked! That was how the world was! How could it be any other way? How could good people do bad things?

But Alfred had done _so many_ bad things.

_I'm a bad person._

It was the only way the world still made sense. And if he was a bad person, it only made sense that he liked all the other bad people. Was that why he suffered? Was it really because he was a monster?

_Ivan loves me._

Ivan loved him. Ivan was-

Alfred didn't want to think about it anymore.

_"Brother."_

Alfred was jerked out of his trance as his leash was given a startled _yank._ He turned towards Ivan, and his eyes widened in response to what he saw.

Ivan looked _terrified._

Alfred turned to look in the direction of Ivan's horrified stare.

"Brother," said Princess Natalya again, her voice as icy as a winter night. "I see you brought _him."_

He could see Ivan struggling to regain his composure. Just how scary _was_ his sister that _Ivan,_ of all people, was frightened by her?

"I took care to inform everyone of that in advance, yes," said Ivan at last, bowing slightly in greeting. Alfred hurriedly mimicked the gesture to a greater degree. "He's made fantastic progress-"

"-in the bedroom?" Natalya finished for him accusingly. Alfred's cheeks burned red, and he found himself grateful to the mask for concealing most of his face. He so badly wanted to deny it, but she hadn't spoken to him. He couldn't respond, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

"Don't be so silly, sister!" said Ivan. "You know precisely what I mean. He's not nearly as aggressive now."

"Oh? Did you follow through with my suggestion to have him neutered?"

Alfred reflexively squeezed his legs together. A jockstrap-like device protected his acid-burned genitals from rubbing up against his clothing, but it served as a grim reminder that Ivan had no compunctions about maiming him in even the most personal of places. He knew very well that the potential loss of his sex drive was the only reason he got to keep his testicles, so it was in his best interest to shut up and let Ivan do the talking.

"What kind of a trophy would he be if I did that?" mused Ivan, carefully hiding his emotions. "It's practically cheating. Fit for an animal, maybe, but Alfred here is capable of learning from his mistakes without such drastic measures."

"He is _less_ than an animal."

"All the more reason not to elevate him to that level."

"Prince Ivan is right," said Yekaterina swiftly. "That seems needlessly cruel! Please cease this vulgarity, sister. It's unbecoming."

"Vulgarity?" growled Natalya. "Is it vulgar to be concerned that my foolish brother is going to pick up some disease from a filthy street whore-turned-soldier?" She turned her attention to Alfred, who did his best to steel himself for whatever was coming. "After all, I'm sure you've prostituted yourself for money numerous times in the past."

Alfred violently shook his head back and forth. He would never have done such a thing! Sure, there had been a couple times that he had _considered_ it, but he'd never been able to-

"Oh? Not even for your brother? I suppose you just didn't love him as much as a good sibling would, then."

Alfred froze.

"Sister, be quiet at once!" said Yekaterina, more authoritatively. "You're being ridiculous!"

"I only speak the truth," said Natalya. "Either he whored himself out, or he isn't really as selfless as they claim. It's as simple as that."

"Oh, would you look at the time?" laughed Ivan, and Alfred was too lost in thought to note what a cliché excuse that had been. "I promised father that I would demonstrate Alfred's progress to him. We'd best be off."

"Don't think this is over!" snapped Natalya as Ivan dragged an emotionally-battered Alfred away. "I'll see that traitor's head roll!"

"I can see you're tired, sister; why don't we sit off to the side for a few minutes?" said Yekaterina.

"I can see you're blind to reality," said Natalya right back. "Why don't we get you a guide dog?"

Alfred was equal parts relieved and nervous as the sound of their bickering faded into the background behind him. It was hard not to think back on his life before joining the rebellion and wonder about his thought process at the time. Back then, no matter how hungry he'd gotten, it had always seemed unthinkable to give in to the men and women who'd propositioned him for sex in exchange for money. He'd never treated it as a viable option, no matter how desperate he and his brother had gotten. But why not? How had he been able to look at his brother starving and refuse? Had he just been unbelievably optimistic? Or had he just been selfishly unable to swallow his pride, even for the only family he had left?

"Don't mind her," whispered Ivan. "She's, well, she's not particularly fond of you. But then, she's not particularly fond of anyone I spend time with. She can be a little clingy and jealous, you see. Don't take it personally."

"Yes, master," said Alfred hollowly.

"Good boy," said Ivan. "Now, that was a good warm-up, but when we see my father, I expect you to obey quickly and quietly. You will keep your head down and your mouth shut. Understand?"

Alfred swallowed. He wasn't ready to see the king in person. Not in his current state. It hardly mattered how he felt, though. He was just Ivan's pet, and pets didn't get to choose who they saw and when. Pets could only be grateful that they were afforded the opportunity to go out at all. At least, that was what he imagined Ivan would say.

His heart beat faster and faster as he followed Ivan through the crowd. He wasn't allowed to make eye contact, but given that he was too ashamed to take his eyes off of the ground, that wasn't a very difficult rule to uphold. As they began to ascend some stairs up to the balcony, Alfred had to fight tooth and nail against every instinct screaming at him to fight back. Even after everything that had transpired, there was still a part of him that wanted to rush ahead and shove Ivan back down the steps in the hope that the fall cracked his head open. But no, Ivan would be prepared for that. Ivan was prepared for everything.

They neared the top of the staircase. Alfred clenched his teeth.

"Ah, Prince Ivan," said a voice that Alfred was all too familiar with. "It's good to see you doing well."

"It's good to see you, too, my liege," said Ivan, looking at Alfred expectantly.

Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to kneel. He _had_ to. He didn't have a choice. It didn't matter that there were dozens of videos being taken of him from every possible vantage point on cell phones and cameras alike. There was no way to fight back. There was no benefit to trying.

He had to be a good boy.

"Alfred, aren't you forgetting something?" said Ivan, but they both knew that Alfred wasn't forgetting anything, only hesitating.

His knees trembled.

_Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Can't move. Can't breathe. I can't do it again. No more._

With deep, steady breaths, Alfred's body began to lower. There was a strange sense of loss as his knees hit the ground, which was strange, since he'd repeatedly reassured himself that he had absolutely nothing left to lose. No matter how many times he repeated that mantra, the world seemed to enjoy scraping the bottom of the metaphorical barrel like a starving animal desperate to consume whatever tiny fragments might have remained.

But those fragments weren't really his anymore, were they?

He hiccupped as he hunched over, tears falling to the floor in a disgusting puddle.

No, those fragments belonged to Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pretty much resolved not to re-read anything I've already posted beyond what I have to to make sure I'm keeping at least somewhat consistent until after I've finished writing this. I really don't want it to end up like The Book of Hell, which I was having a lot of fun writing until I actually re-read what I'd written earlier and was all, "Oh my God, this is garbage. I'm subjecting people to garbage. Aaaaaaah-" This whole story reads like a rough draft, and, in all fairness, it kind of is. No use giving it up, though; I'm sure you guys would prefer a rough draft over absolutely nothing. :P As always, please feel free to leave genuine criticism. I promise I won't attempt to kick you out of my lighthouse, forcing you to push me down the stairs to my death. I really, TRULY want my writing to improve. Don't take any of this as compliment-fishing. Give me your real thoughts! Criticism is just proof that you care enough about the story to want to make it better! Or something like that.


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